


Peitho's Curse

by SpideyFics



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Michelle Jones, Adult Peter Parker, Bodyswap, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Pregnancy, Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, crack-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideyFics/pseuds/SpideyFics
Summary: Peter and MJ are just settling into their post-college lives when Peter is hit by an ancient, little-known curse that makes them swap bodies. With no way of immediately swapping back, they have no choice but to let the curse run its course, testing their relationship and learning new things about each other along the way.





	1. Freaky Friday

**Author's Note:**

> So, in many many years of being a part of various fandoms, one of my weaknesses has been crack fic treated seriously, written well, and somehow magically made plausible. I'm not saying that this fic will meet any of that criteria, but here we go ... tags will be updated upon reaching certain parts of the story, to avoid spoilers, though it's probably pretty obvious where this is heading.
> 
> Also, I am choosing to ignore a particular bit of Endgame because it makes me cry.
> 
> *presses post and hides*

Peter was bored, cold, and about ready to swing home and crawl into bed next to MJ, but of course the universe decided to mess up his evening the very moment he decided to call it a night.

He’d spent the last two hours webbing his way around Jamaica, which usually provided him with a pinch of vehicular theft, a dash of mugging and a sprinkle of breaking and entering, but apparently the weekend after Halloween was off-season for petty crime, because there was fuck all happening.

As he swung down from the church spire he’d been perched on, he heard two voices raised in argument, a man and a woman both shouting so loudly their voices sound strained. He webbed onto the flat roof of a 99c store and parkoured his way in the direction of the domestic, jumping between buildings until he reached a good vantage point.

He peered down at the couple, who didn’t appear to be about to get physical and were arguing about the fact that the woman felt like the unpaid help, and decided he’d just listen in on them for a few minutes, make sure the situation didn’t escalate into something they’d both regret.

Pulling out his phone, Peter scrolled through his Instagram, giving some love to posts from Ned, Stark Industries and Flash – well, SpideyNo1Fan, which Flash still updated daily, even six years after the Mysterio bullshit – half listening to the bickering down on the street. It suddenly fell silent, and he leaned over the wall to look down at the pair.

“Ah shit,” he muttered, catching sight of what appeared to be a gun in the woman’s hands. He jumped off the building, webbing catching on a streetlight, and arced down in between the couple, a tingling blast of cold hitting him between the shoulder blades as he caught the man around the waist and swung him to safety.

Peter set the man down two streets away. “Dude, maybe help out around the house a little more, you know? It’s 2029, be a feminist and plan some meals, do the dishes without being asked, shoulder some of the emotional labor.”

The unsolicited advice got him a mouthful of abuse, so Peter walked away, muttering to himself about ungrateful civilians and trying to look over his own shoulder to see what damage had been done by the shouty lady and her mystery weapon. He stopped by a car, angling the wing mirror towards his upper back, but couldn’t see anything that looked worrying – the suit was intact and unmarked, so he shrugged and headed for home.

He ran most of the way, the mostly residential areas offering little opportunity for riding his webs, making running the speedier option. He settled into a comfortable thirty mph pace, the late (or early, depending on how you looked at it) hour and the unseasonably frigid temperature keeping people off the streets and out of his way.

It took him fifteen minutes to run the eight or so miles to Sunnyside and the second-floor apartment he shared with MJ. He slipped silently through the window that looked out onto the service alley, closing it behind himself as quietly as he could, mindful of the fact that he could hear MJ’s soft and steady breathing from the bedroom, her slow heartbeat indicating that she was asleep.

Heading straight for the bathroom, he turned his suit inside out, spraying it with an anti-bacterial deodorizing foam that cleaned it without damaging the delicate electronic system, then took a thirty second shower, rinsing the sweat from his body before toweling off and pulling on the t-shirt and boxers MJ had left out for him.

As he climbed into bed, MJ stirred, turning to face him, her eyes fluttering open. “P’er. Y’OK?”

“Hey, I’m good. Go back to sleep.” He kissed her forehead then turned so his back was to her, smiling as she pressed herself along the length of his body, an arm around his waist and a leg over his thigh, her cheek resting between his shoulders. She’d deny it, but sleepy MJ was a cuddler who liked to be the big spoon, and who was he to argue with his fiancée’s sub-conscious clingy side? Besides, he liked having her wrapped so closely around him, her warm presence reassuring and grounding.

He covered the arm around his waist with his own, lacing his fingers through MJ’s, and fell almost immediately asleep, missing the muted white-blue glow that flooded the room, radiating from his body and wrapping the two of them in flickering tendrils of light that contracted around them before fading into their skin.

***

When Peter’s full bladder woke him up far too early at dark o’clock the next morning, he stared blearily up at the ceiling, dimly registering the fact that at some point during the night, he and MJ had switched sides of the bed. She was still fast asleep next to him, curled tightly into a ball with the blankets pulled up over her head, snoring softly.

Knuckling sleep from his eyes, he reluctantly swung his legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom, intent on using the toilet as quickly as possible and diving back under the covers for another few hours of their precious Saturday morning snooze before their weekly Jones-Parker-Stark brunch. Their bathroom didn’t have a window, so he shielded his eyes and hit the light switch, nudging the door closed behind him.

The small room flooded with light and he dropped his hand from his face, before catching sight of his reflection in the mirror.

“What the _fuck!”_ he screeched, stumbling backwards against the door with a thud, his eyes fixed on his reflection. “MJ!”

He heard her run down the hall, stopping outside the room and rattling the door handle. “Peter, what’s going on? Let me in.” Her voice sounded wrong, deeper, and Peter was beginning to freak out, he didn’t know what to do, couldn’t think, couldn’t _move …_

He was suddenly thrown forward as MJ burst through the door, and he caught himself against the sink, the counter-top smacking painfully against his hipbones, and that just meant he was closer to the mirror, transfixed by what he saw.

“Peter, what’s happening?” MJ looked down at her hands – no, _his _hands, she was using _his_ eyes in _his_ head to look down at _his_ hands, _what the actual fuck_, and he stared at himself in the mirror, seeing MJ’s face looking back at him, watching as he moved _her_ hands to touch _her_ face, tuck a rogue curl behind _her_ ear.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked shakily, standing next to him, their arms touching as she met his gaze in the mirror. “This can’t be real, this is fucked up.” She reached out to turn on the faucet and shrieked as the lever snapped off in her hand, water spraying everywhere, and Peter scrabbled under the sink to turn off the water as MJ grabbed towels from the linen cabinet to start mopping up the mess, accidentally pulling the door off in her haste.

He looked at her standing there in his body, soaking wet, a faucet lever stuck to one hand and a cabinet door affixed to the other, and he started laughing hysterically, falling backwards from his crouch and landing on his ass in a puddle of water.

She gave him a classic MJ glare, which looked utterly ridiculous on his stupid face and made him laugh even harder. “This isn’t funny,” she said pointedly. “I don’t know why you’re laughing like this is funny.”

“It’s not funny, I’m terrified,” Peter howled, clutching his stomach. “Oh my God.”

She slumped down next to him, the cupboard door resting across her thighs. “How the hell do you stop sticking to things?” She shook her hand, trying to dislodge the faucet lever. “What a stupid fucking superpower to have, how do you turn it off?” It was super-weird seeing MJ’s familiar expressions on his features.

Peter tried to compose himself, but little giggles kept bubbling up. “You just gotta relax, don’t think about it.” MJ was starting to look genuinely distressed, tears welling in her eyes, and that sobered him immediately. “Hey, it’s OK, you’re just over-thinking it. Close your eyes and just let your hands loosen up a little.”

He watched as she visibly relaxed, her whole body slumping as she got her previously panicked breathing under control, and the door and lever unstuck, falling to the floor.

He leaned against her, shoulder to shoulder, head to head, reaching for her hand. “You should have seen me when I first got my powers. I got stuck to my mattress and couldn’t move for five hours, I had to convince May and Ben that I was still sick so they’d call me out from school.”

She played with his fingers, twisting the engagement ring on his left hand back and forth. “You know, I’ve never thought about how scary it must have been for you when all that happened. You didn’t even have anyone you could talk to.”

“Ben knew,” he said quietly. “He found out the day he died, caught me testing my powers out by lifting up my bunk-bed. We went for a walk so he could figure out what was going on before we told May, but then – well, you know what happened.”

MJ pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK. I’m glad he knew, even if it wasn’t for long. But I’ve always wondered how different it might all have been if he was still here and May knew almost from the start.”

She went back to fiddling with his hand like he was her living stress ball. “What are we going to do about this? Where do we even start working out what’s going on?”

He looked at her, wearing his dumb face and even dumber ears, and could still see MJ in the way she curled her shoulders, a sure sign of her nerves, and the way she focused unwaveringly on him, as though he were the center of her universe. “I think we need to turn brunch into breakfast and ask the family.”

He paused for a moment and frowned, his bladder reminding him why he’d gone to the bathroom. “But before we do that, I gotta pee.”

***

By nine am, Peter and MJ had arrived at the tower after taking a very awkward shared shower, having decided that they both felt more comfortable showering their borrowed bodies with the original owner present. They basically shared their wardrobe, so Peter was wearing his own jeans and a roomy grey t-shirt that neither of them ever remembered buying but fought over anyway, with a chunky shawl necked cardigan thrown over the top. The jeans were too short for MJ’s longer legs, but worked with the boots he’d pulled on, and the outfit felt familiar and comfortable, making him feel less of a stranger in his borrowed skin. MJ was bundled up in flannel lined jeans, a t-shirt, shirt, and a sweater, Peter’s body’s tendency towards feeling the cold making itself known, though he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t shock that made her shiver.

They stood hand in hand in the elevator up to the residential floors, Peter adjusting to the fact that he didn’t have to bend his arm slightly to hold MJ’s hand like he usually did. MJ was apparently having her own issues adapting to her new body, gripping his hand so tightly that it made him squeak in pain before she realized and relaxed her grasp.

When they stepped from the elevator into the family room, May, Tony and Pepper were all there waiting expectantly, in various stages of readiness for the day. Pepper looked pristine as always, May was in leggings and a baggy t-shirt, her hair up in a messy bun, and Tony was in sweats and a tank top, his hair wild and face still pillow creased. It was early enough for him that he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic arm, just a jersey cover pulled over his stump. 

“Morning, love birds. Mind filling us in on why I’m out of bed at the ungodly hour of nine am on a Saturday morning?” Tony greeted them as they sat down on the only empty couch.

Peter poured himself a cup of coffee, and May stood and took the cup from his hands, giving him a glass of juice instead and handing the coffee to MJ. “No coffee for you, sweetheart,” she said fondly, a soft smile on her face, and Peter frowned at MJ, confused. He was even more confused when May’s eyes didn’t stray any higher than his stomach. Even Pepper was glancing down at his abdomen as she passed around a plate of warm pain au choclat.

“Uh – why are you acting so weird, May?” he asked, wrapping one arm self-consciously around himself as he took a bite from his pastry.

“Oh, I’m just excited,” she said, and Peter could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes. “Go ahead and tell us your news.”

Next to him, MJ suddenly snorted. “No. This really isn’t what you’re thinking, sorry.”

“_What are they thinking?_” Peter hissed at her from the side of his mouth, feeling utterly out of the loop.

“They think you – I – knocked you up,” MJ said matter-of-factly, and Peter’s mouth dropped open with his sudden embarrassed realization.

“What? No! I’m not – we’re not …” he spluttered. “Why would you think that we …?”

May looked a strange combination of crestfallen and relieved. “You’re not pregnant? Why else would you ask us all to get here so early?” She looked over at MJ. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“We swapped bodies,” Peter blurted. Searching for a way to explain, he drew on the extensive eighties and nineties movie and TV education Ben and May had given him. “I’m MJ and she’s me. Like - _Vice Versa._ Or maybe _Freaky Friday _or _Quantum Leap._ We woke up this morning and we were in one another’s bodies.” He could see Tony practically bite his tongue in an effort to stop his predictably immature response. “Oh shut it, Tony.”

“I didn’t say anything, kid,” Tony replied. “I was only going to say that technically _Quantum Leap_ was an aura thing, not body-swapping.” He looked back and forth between the two of them, his gaze coming to rest on Peter. “If you’re really Peter, tell me what I said to you after the ferry, when I took your suit back and made you walk through Queens in Hello Kitty pants?”

Peter hesitated, the memory still raw and painful even all these years later, but Tony nodded at him. “I – I said I wanted to be like you, and you told me that you wanted me to be better, and that if I was nothing without the suit, then I shouldn’t have it.” For a moment he felt fifteen again, fifteen and awkward and scared and so _angry_, and he took a deep breath. “I swear we’re not playing you. We really have swapped bodies, and we don’t know why, or how to swap back.”

“I believe you, Pete,” Tony told him, echoed by May and Pepper, as Morgan yawned her way into the room, wearing her Spider-Man PJs, Iron Man slippers and sporting epic bedhead, her long hair wild and tangled.

She saw Peter and MJ and squealed as she ran towards them. “Petey! MJ” When she got closer, she frowned, looking back and forth between the two of them before plopping herself down on Peter’s lap and snuggling into his shoulder. “How come you look like MJ, Peter?”

Dumbfounded, he automatically wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head underneath his chin as they hugged. She was still a tiny little thing, even at the age of ten, and Peter adored her sharp, inquisitive mind and her clever, sarcastic sense of humor. “How did you know I’m not MJ?”

She shrugged. “Just knew. You and MJ sit differently, you always have one foot underneath your butt and MJ doesn’t do that.” She wiggled off his lap and wedged herself in between him and MJ. “MJ, does it feel weird having a penis?”

Much like her father, Morgan didn’t really have much of a filter, and her blunt question shocked everyone but MJ into laughing.“Yep, weirdest thing ever,” MJ confirmed, a blush staining her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her hot face and glared at Peter. “Is your body faulty? Why am I blushing when I’m not embarrassed?”

He smirked at her. “Pretty sure my body is broken, yeah. I blush when I’m sad or angry or happy or just because it’s a day ending in y. Sorry about that.”

As the blotchy flush faded from her face, MJ looked at Tony. “So what do we do? We can’t stay in each other’s body for ever. How do we swap back?”

“I don’t know,” Tony confessed. “But I think I know a man who probably does.”


	2. Peitho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ get some answers about their situation and start making plans to deal with the fallout.

Stephen Strange hadn’t lost any of his flair for the dramatic in the time Peter had known him. He arrived via portal, a swirl of golden sparks surrounding him as he stepped through into the living room, his sentient red cloak settled over his shoulders. As always, he got straight down to business.

He took one fascinated look at Peter and MJ and he gestured for them to stand. “I’ve read of Peitho’s Curse, but never thought I’d actually see the result. I believe the last instance was over two hundred years ago, which is why I was so surprised to detect its signature last night.” He circled the two of them, his hands making complicated gestures around their heads. “Peter, it seems that you were the focus of the curse. I assume that this isn’t something you sought out yourself?” As he spoke, he opened up a small portal and reached through it, pulling out a leather-bound book and propping it up on thin air.

“Nope.”

“Ms. Jones? How about you?” Strange did his weird phasing thing and speed-read through the book with one hand and cast spells with the other in an impressive show of multi-tasking.

This was the first time MJ had met Strange, but she was doing a remarkable job of looking completely unimpressed by the light show, raising an eyebrow at his question. “No. No cursing. But there’s about to be plenty of it if you don’t tell us what the hell Peitho’s Curse is. And call me Michelle.”

He phased back completely into their dimension, his cloak rippling around him. “My apologies, Michelle. Peitho was the Greek goddess of desire and persuasion, an advocate for how persuasion without quarrelling can bring about harmony within a marriage.” He stopped paging though the book. “Peitho’s Curse used to be popular with women in an unhappy relationship. I’m sure you’ve all heard the adage ‘walk a mile in someone else’s shoes’? Well, this spell causes a betrothed or married couple to do exactly that, by switching bodies with their respective loved one, with the aim of seeing the other’s point of view.”

“Thanks for the classics lesson, doc, but can you get to the part where we switch them back?” Tony said. He’d put on his prosthetic before Strange’s arrival, and he slung his flesh arm around MJ and his metal around Peter, tugging them close. “I guess you just need to get all sparkly and flashy and zip them back?”

Strange’s silence spoke volumes, and Peter was glad of Tony’s arm around his waist, because he felt a little bit faint. He tried to speak but his mouth was dry, and he had to clear his throat. “Are we stuck like this? There’s no way of getting us back into our own bodies?”

He knew he wouldn’t like the answer before Strange even opened his mouth. “Well, you’re not stuck like this permanently. But there’s no way to reverse it, short of one of you dying. You just have to let the spell run its course.”

“And how long is that?” MJ demanded. “Just tell us, you dragging it out isn’t going to make us like it more.” She sounded confrontational, but Peter knew her better than almost anyone else in his life, and even when she was using his voice, he could tell that she was barely holding it together. “_Please_,” she said, with a note of desperation, and Peter broke away from Tony’s steadying hold to go to her, wrapping her tightly in his arms.

“A year,” Strange stated. “The spell lasts exactly a year, to the very minute and second that you switched, and there’s no way to break it - once cast, it’s binding. If one of you sustained mortal injuries, then you’d both revert back to your original body at the moment of irreversible death, but that’s the only way to prematurely end the spell, and I think we’d all agree that it’s not a viable option.”

As one, Peter and MJ sat down, still clinging to each other. “There was something weird on patrol last night. This man and woman were arguing, and I thought the woman had a gun, so I swung the guy out of the way, and felt something cold hit me, like right in the middle of my shoulders,” Peter said. “I’m guessing that was the spell?”

Strange’s hands twisted in the air, and Peter and MJ were suddenly surrounded by a nest of white-blue light, tangled around their bodies like twine, the luminous strands seeming to originate from MJ.

“Michelle, would you please expose your back?” Strange requested politely, and MJ mutely did as she was asked, hesitating for a moment before stripping off her multiple layers of clothing as one, clutching the bundle self-consciously to her chest as she bent towards her knees.

Peter looked at her bare back – taking a second to acknowledge to himself how truly weird it was to see his own body from behind - and saw a small, glowing dove between her shoulder blades, the focal point for the strings of light entangling them. He traced it gently with his fingertips, the marking flaring brightly in response to his touch. It was in the exact place that he’d felt that pulse of cold.

“Twine and doves are the symbols most closely associated with Peitho,” Strange explained, indicating that MJ should put her clothes back on. “You’re bound together for the next year. Even if you decided to end your relationship for some reason, you’d find that you’re unable to intimately touch any other person until you return to your original body.” He abruptly slashed his hands down through the air, and the light show disappeared.

MJ tugged her clothes back on and Peter could see her pull herself together, shoulders thrown back, head held high. She wasn’t the kind of woman to sit and complain about her lot; she prided herself on being proactive and forthright, and that was just one of the many things he loved about her.

“So, are there any weird rules that come along with this? Or do we just have to go and live our lives and get on with it?” Peter felt the anxiety of the last couple of hours drop away, now that he knew what had happened and that there was no imminent danger. He was sure that his relationship with MJ was strong enough to weather this particular storm and had no doubts about how much they loved one another, and that was all that really mattered.

“No weird rules,” Strange assured him. “The spell is actually quite benign, and its intent is to bring about unity rather than discord. However, I will be paying a visit to the couple from last night, as I’m curious to discover how a long-defunct spell made its way to Queens.” A portal opened behind him, and he bowed his head in farewell. “Peter, Michelle, you know how to find me should you be in need of assistance. I’ll let you know the result of my visit to Jamaica.” And with that, he was gone.

“You didn’t tell him it was in Jamaica,” MJ said to Peter. “You didn’t tell any of us that.”

“Pete didn’t need to. Strange monitors magic,” Tony answered for him. “He’s some kind of mystical guardian, keeps an eye on all that weird shit. He’ll have noticed what happened last night and traced it to its origin point.”

Peter let himself relax back against the couch, draping his arm around MJ and pulling her in to rest her head against his shoulder. She curled in against him, bringing her feet up onto the cushions and resting her knees against his thighs as he pressed his face against the top of her head, absently noting how soft her – well, technically _his_ – hair was, the curls wild and untamed without his usual product.

May was staring at them again, that soft, loving expression back on her face, a gentle smile playing about her lips. “You know, I don’t think I really believed that you’d swapped bodies until just now. It’s so obvious when you sit like that.”

Pepper returned from checking on Morgan - who’d been sent off to her room before Doctor Strange arrived - and poured coffee for everyone, just about managing to hide her smirk when she handed Peter a cup. “I guess the two of you have a lot of talking to do about how you’re going to manage this next year,” she commented quietly. “I imagine you both feel a bit overwhelmed by all this.”

She was right on both counts. Peter hadn’t even fully processed what had happened yet, let alone started to think about what the next twelve months would bring. There were certain aspects of their lives that they couldn’t just fake their way though, responsibilities that required their individual skills. He’d only just got back to a consistent schedule as Spider-Man, after his alter-ego was relegated to a couple of patrols a week as he crammed his double major Bachelor’s and then a Master’s back to back in a soul-crushingly difficult four years. MJ was about to start a paid internship with the ACLU, her version of a gap year before returning to Columbia for her JD in Law, and Peter had a shiny new R&D internship with Stark Industries to get some research experience in before starting his doctorate in biotech next fall. There was no way he could pretend to be MJ at her Women’s Rights internship, and, as intelligent as she was, MJ wouldn’t be able to keep up with Peter’s research into medical biotech and biochem.

“I’ll phone the office on Monday and tell them I’m dropping the internship,” MJ said, her voice hushed and resigned. “You’re not going to be able to what they need.”

“MJ …” he protested, but she cut him off, pulling herself away from him.

“It’s OK. I’ll find a job to keep money coming in and try again for the internship next year, when this is all over.” She was soothing him like he was the one who should be upset, when in reality, her life had been turned upside down, something she’d worked towards for a long time being ripped away from her.

“You’re not finding a job,” Tony said. “You can’t take a job using Peter’s qualifications, so that leaves you slinging burgers or pushing groceries through a till, which you’d hate. Pep, what intern positions do we have open?”

Ignoring MJ’s strident protestations that she didn’t need handouts or nepotism, Pepper scrolled through a StarkPad. “We have a ten-month paid position for a post-grad in community outreach legal that would be perfect. It hasn’t even gone live yet. No teamwork or face-to-face, it’s all solo work answering online and telephone enquiries and researching worthy causes in need of support, and I can have MJ report directly to me.” She tapped at the screen for a minute then passed the pad to Tony. “All you and MJ have to do is put your fingerprint on it, and it’s done.”

Tony touched the screen a few times, pressed his thumb to the fingerprint reader, then clapped his hands together. “OK, that’s one problem sorted. We matched your predicted salary from the ACLU and added 25% on top. It should meet your admission requirements for Columbia.”

Peter could tell that the fiercely independent part of MJ wanted to tell Tony to take his internship and shove it up his ass, but he could also see that her pragmatic, realistic side was taking it for what it was – a hand-up rather than a handout, and a solution to at least one of their problems. The alternative was taking a job she’d hate that would do nothing to advance her career, and this was definitely the best outcome to an all-around shitty situation.

She thanked Tony and Pepper and read through the contract before grabbing Peter’s hand to press his thumb to the section of the document that called for her fingerprint. “The internship is here at the tower, right? Peter and I can just commute to work together each day.”

“There’s a spare office right next to the lab Pete and I work in, you can have that. Nobody else works on that level so there won’t be any questions about why you look like you’re doing one another's work,” Tony told her. “And I’ll set the phones up with a voice modulator so you sound like yourself, rather than Pete.”

Peter felt like the shittiest boyfriend in the world, sitting there listening to his girlfriend, the woman he intended to marry, put her life and career on hold because of him. She’d had her career path planned out since she was in grade school, and now she was going to be two years behind. He knew it wasn’t technically his fault, but if he’d headed for home just a minute earlier, he’d still be napping with MJ, and this whole shit show would be someone else’s problem.

MJ was apparently able to read his mind, because she reached out and placed a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare say sorry, Parker.”

He raised his eyebrows at her then licked her palm, making her laugh and screw up her face before dropping her hand, wiping it against her jeans. “You disgust me,” she grinned, with such love in her voice that it gave Peter butterflies, made him feel like he was sixteen all over again.

“I am sorry though,” he said. “I know how hard you worked to get that internship, and I’m pissed that you’re having to let it go.”

“I’m not the only one having to sacrifice here,” she reminded him with a shrug. “You won’t be able to start your doctorate next year like you planned, because of course this couldn’t have conveniently happened over the summer.”

He hadn’t even thought about the fact that he’d have to delay his doctorate, and in that precise moment he couldn’t care less. Tony had always made it clear that there was a job for him with in SI, regardless of his post-grad education; Tony may have earned three doctorates, but he cared more about potential than letters after a person’s name. Getting a PhD was mostly a confidence thing for Peter, who was very much aware that he had a massive case of imposter syndrome along with a perpetual baby face. He’d been to enough conferences to realize that whilst letters may not matter to Tony, for a majority of people working in Peter’s field, an alphabet soup of qualifications was a must in order to be taken seriously as a peer.

“Just gives me an extra year to do research. It’s fine. Being Doctor Parker can wait another couple years, it’s no big deal.”

MJ gazed at him with so much affection that he wanted to touch her, kiss her, cup her face in his hands and bury his fingers in her hair as his thumbs swept across her cheekbones, but how could he do that when he’d be doing it to his own body? He settled for taking her hand, his now slim, tapered fingers entwining with hers, blunt and nail-bitten.

“What are you going to do about Spider-Man?” May asked. “Tony, should we put out a statement saying that Spider-Man is taking a year off? People are going to ask questions, especially after Peter has been around so much the last few weeks.”

“Why would we do that?” MJ said, and Peter knew exactly what she was about to say, and the idea made him feel sick.

“No, MJ,” he snapped. “No. No way.”

“Give me a good reason why not,” she said coolly, pulling her hand away from Peter’s. “You sit there and tell me why I can’t go out and do what you’ve been doing since you were a fourteen-fucking-year-old _child_, Peter.”

And wow, he hadn’t thought it was possible, but his day had just got even_ more_ spectacularly fucking awful.


	3. A Change of Perspective

“You can’t just decide you’re gonna go out and be out and be Spider-Man. It’s dangerous, you could get hurt – “

“No shit, who the hell do you think has patched your stupid ass up about a thousand times the last four years? Still not a good enough reason, I’m not some wilting little flower you have protect. I have your powers, it would be irresponsible to sit on the side-lines for the next twelve months when I could be doing some good. What, do you think I’m not capable?” MJ was thin-lipped and angry, and Peter was confused how the mood had changed so quickly. May, Pepper and Tony had fled the minute the argument had started, and he wished he had the option to run away from the conversation too.

“Did I say that? Of course I think you’re capable, but I’ve been doing this for a long time, it’s not as simple as just putting on the suit and heading out.” He got to his feet and began to pace. “Fuck MJ, the thought of you having to go out as Spider-Man scares the shit out of me.”

She looked away from him, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Well, maybe now you know how I feel every time you suit up. This isn’t something that’s up for discussion, I’m doing it. I’d rather do it with your support, but if you’re going to be an asshole about it, I don’t have a problem figuring it out on my own.”

“I’m not being an asshole.”

“You’re absolutely being an asshole, Peter. You’re being a misogynistic, controlling asshole and I hate it.“

He threw his hands up, exasperated and offended and completely at a loss how to explain to MJ why he was so stressed out by the idea. “So I’m a misogynist now? Bullshit MJ, this is nothing to do with you being a woman and you know it, so don’t even go there. I started out small, giving directions, stopping bike thieves, it’s taken me years to build up to the level I’m working on now. You can’t just jump on in and deal with the shit I’ve been handling.”

She scowled at him, eyes dark and her fists clenched. “I’m not stupid -”

“Never said you were.”

“- I’m going to ask Tony to reset the training protocol on the suit and let me go up to the compound to work through it. I won’t go out until I’ve completed it all.”

He didn’t have a comeback for that. Everything MJ said made sense, but it didn’t stop his stomach clenching in fear, his pulse pounding in his throat. She was never going to accept ‘but I don’t want you to’ as a reason. “Please MJ,” he pleaded. “If anything happened to you …” He couldn’t give voice to his worst fear, that he’d lose her, the idea of her gone from the world too much to contemplate.

“Nothing is going to happen to me! I’ll be careful, do the training. I can’t sit around knowing I could be out there helping people. You know what that feels like.” She looked at him, and he knew he was a mess, teary eyed and his chest heaving with his rapid breaths. “You know what, I can’t do this right now. I can’t be here.”

“MJ – “ he started, but it was too late, she was gone, bypassing the elevator and heading into the stairwell.

“Well _fuck_,” he muttered, reaching up to grip at his hair in frustration, his fingers finding the messy top knot MJ had twisted his hair into that morning, instead of his short curls. Everything felt so wrong, and the idea of living in MJ’s body for a year was secretly freaking him out. Like, her body was great, he loved it, loved her, but he felt slow and weak and everything was so _dull._ He’d forgotten what it was like to have a regular human body, and it was only now, with MJ’s perfectly normal senses, that he realised just how enhanced his own were. He’d had his powers for eight years, had grown used to how many shades of color he could distinguish, how he could hear the heartbeat of every person in a two-mile square radius, a constant background hum that he’d long since learned to reduce to white noise.

“Fuck,” he said again, to himself and the empty room. He knew better than to try and go after MJ; they didn’t fight often, but when they did, she was best left to her own devices for a while, something Peter had learned over their six-year relationship. Back during their first few arguments, MJ would go cold and silent, and Peter would get teary eyed and conciliatory, a result of his own abandonment issues that sub-consciously convinced him that everyone would eventually leave him, and that this fight would be the last fight and MJ would be done with his shit.

Giving up on his effort to pull his hair out, he sought out the others in the kitchen, where he knew they’d be hiding. May greeted him with a hug, swaying him back and forth.

“You OK, baby?”

He sighed into her hair, unwilling to step out of her embrace just yet. “Not really. MJ said I’m being a controlling, misogynistic asshole and I’m worried she’s right.”

May hummed, stepping back and cupping his face. “You’re not being controlling or misogynistic, but you _are_ being kind of a hypocritical asshole.” Well. He could always count on her being nothing but honest.

He let his aunt push him onto a stool next to Tony at the breakfast bar, the older man patting his shoulder in sympathy. “Welcome to the hypocritical asshole club, kid.”

“Urgh.” Peter crossed his arms on the countertop and hid his face, screaming into the metaphorical void. “How do I make this work? I don’t know what to do.”

Pepper reached across the counter and tugged his arms away from his face, making him look up at her. “Accept that your girlfriend is a strong and independent woman who is capable of making her own choices, and support her in that. She’s going to do it with or without you.”

“As someone who dealt with a certain spider-kid doing his stupid shit with or without me, let me assure you it’s far less stressful once you accept it’s happening,” Tony said wryly. “You get to be the mentor this time. You’ll most likely have significantly fewer heart attacks than I did though, you’re young and spritely.”

“I hate this,” Peter moaned. “And I think the three of you are enjoying this just a little bit too much.”

Tony chuckled, pulling Peter into a side hug. “Little bit, yeah. Look at this year as a learning experience, Pete. It’ll make your relationship with MJ even stronger, and it’s damn near rock solid as it is.”

Peter knew they were talking sense, he had no choice but to suck it up and get on with it, and MJ would be safer with his guidance than without it, but it didn’t mean he had to like it, and he didn’t care if that made him a hypocrite. “I guess.”

“You wanna come down to the lab with me? My arm is acting up and I think we should try out the coding you came up with last week.”

Peter knew a intervention when he saw one, but the idea of spending some time with Tony, who knew what it was like to be the one going out to save the world, and also the one left at home waiting, seemed like the best way to sort through the mess of his current emotional state. He was pretty sure Tony was mostly bullshitting about his arm, but he appreciated the fact he could accept the offer and pretend it was about Tony rather than him.

“Sure,” he said, making his goodbyes to May and Pepper, who both fussed over him, and following Tony to the elevator. They stood in companionable silence as it descended, Peter avoiding his reflection in the mirror at the back of the car.

“You good, Pete?” Tony asked as they walked into the lab, the lights turning on and the lab humming to life.

“Nope.” Peter headed to the station that was solely dedicated to Tony’s prosthesis, logging into the computer and bringing up the schematics for Mark XX. “Could we just not talk about it for a while?”

Tony popped open the access panel on his arm, plugging in the diagnostic cable that connected to Peter’s workstation. “Whatever you want, kid. You know I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

Peter expanded the blueprint of Tony’s arm, swiping everything but the neural network to one side, leaving a spider’s web of tiny wires and connections, and magnified the junction at the elbow joint. Satisfied that the pathways were holding up, Peter pulled up his coding and sandboxed it, running a simulation. “Looks like the new code would give you an extra two degrees of supination and pronation. Want me to go ahead?” At Tony’s nod, he took the code out of isolation and uploaded it to the arm.

Tony flexed the limb, twisting his forearm. “Feels good, thanks.” He unhooked the cable, stowing it neatly next to the computer. “I have a few ideas for your suit if you wanna give them a spin.”

They spent the next few hours writing code for the suit that Peter knew was solely for his peace of mind, and he was fast beginning to understand why Tony had installed a ridiculous number of protocols back when Peter was first starting out. The Baby Monitor was reinstated, just with a new, non-infantilizing title of Video Monitoring, and the web shooters could now be controlled through remote access. The upper and lower limits of the life sign monitoring were changed, so an unmanned rescue suit would be sent out earlier should the Spider-Man suit report a medical emergency, and actual Rescue, containing Pepper, would deploy in the event of catastrophic injury. Peter appreciated the gesture behind the last addition; Tony was willing to send out his wife to collect Peter’s wife-to-be, put her in a potentially dangerous situation, and it meant the world to him that Tony and Pepper had evidently discussed it.

With the coding uploaded and sent to all three of Peter’s suits, the two of them slumped onto the lumpy old couch that Tony had owned since his MIT days and refused to part with, and devoured the pizzas Pepper had brought up, with strict instructions to take a break and eat. Peter was full after half the pizza, a somewhat novel experience for him, as he was used to eating two pizzas plus sides without even breaking a sweat.

“Thanks for today, Tony,” Peter said, balling up his napkin and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “I’m still not thrilled with the idea of MJ heading out as Spider-Man, but I can deal with it. I think I’m mostly worried that she’ll be better at it than I am.”

Tony tapped his foot against Peter’s. “I genuinely think this will be good for you both. MJ will get to see the reality of what you do, and how fucking boring it is hanging out in trees and on rooftops waiting for shit to happen, and you’ll get to experience the mind-numbing anxiety of waiting for a dipshit to swing home.”

Peter picked at a thread hanging from the sleeve of his cardigan, twisting it around his finger. “I guess,” he said reluctantly, watching the tip of his finger flush red as blood pooled in the tip, before unwinding the thread. “At least things slow down a little this time of year. It’ll give her time to train.”

“The compound is yours as long as you need it. Might be an idea for you and MJ to go and spend a few weeks up there, get a feel for your new dynamic, run her through the training and some of the simulations.” Tony nudged him. “It’ll be OK, kid. The two of you have got this, and we’re all right behind you.”

Peter felt incredibly young and incredibly old all at once, and he let Tony draw him into an embrace, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. “I was just starting to feel like we were finally adults, you know? We got engaged, rented our first place together, I was back to patrolling and still managing to have a life, and now we’re having to change our plans and rely on you guys to help us out and it’s just _shit._”

Tony said nothing for a moment, just rubbing his thumb back and forth over Peter’s arm. “You’re twenty-two. There’s nothing wrong with still relying on your family at that age, or any other for that matter, alright? We’re always here for you, just like you’re always here for us.”

Peter felt him press a kiss to the top of his head and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself just be a kid again, to appreciate the fact that he had May, Tony, Pepper and Happy in his life as a weird little collection of substitute parents who would do – and had done – anything and everything for him and MJ. He wasn’t related to any of them by blood, but that didn’t matter, they were family regardless of genetics, their bonds stronger than any ancestry.

He was still super-stressed out and anxious, but Tony had given him some hope that things would work out.

***

Peter arrived home late that evening to find MJ curled up on the couch, covered in blankets and watching a true crime documentary. She moved her feet to let Peter sit down, and he pulled them into his lap, curling a hand around toes that were covered by a violently purple fuzzy sock.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a dick,” he said softly.

She rubbed at her nose with a blanket-covered hand, then moved the covers down so he could see her face. “S’ok. I know it’s only because you’re worried.”

They sat quietly in the dimly lit room, and then MJ twisted around on the couch to place her head in his lap, his hand automatically moving to stroke her hair back from her forehead. “I’ll help you be Spider-Man,” he told her, proud of how sure his voice sounded despite his misgivings. “Tony said we can stay at the compound as long as we need, until we’ve finished your training. I figured we could head up there tomorrow and get started.”

She caught at his hand and pressed a kiss against his palm. “Thank you.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Does it always feel like this?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“This – I don’t know, this – this _yearning _to move, even though I feel exhausted. I have so much excess energy it feels like ants crawling under my skin, I’m totally wired. I tried going for a run earlier just to try and burn some off, but I couldn’t figure out how to run at a normal speed. I got to the end of the block in about five seconds and turned straight back.”

Something else that he’d learned to live with, assimilated as his new normal. “Yeah, that feeling is almost always there, it’s like an itch. I hardly even notice it now.”

“Huh.” Squirming, she kicked the blankets off her body, revealing a pair of Peter’s flannel pajama pants and a soft, fluffy jumper that was a match to her socks. “Speaking of itching, I think these blankets are made of poison ivy.” She rolled to her feet and took his hand, pulling him up off the couch. “I’m tired. Come to bed with me?”

He let her lead him to the bathroom, where they stood side by side and brushed their teeth, before she pushed him down to sit on the lidded toilet, combing through his hair then wrapping it with a silk scarf, a bedtime routine he’d seen her carry out multiple times since they’d started dating. They both cleansed and moisturized their faces, and Peter changed into pajamas, refusing to feel self-conscious as he stripped in front of her– she’d seen her own body before, they’d showered together that morning, so there was zero need for him to be embarrassed about being naked in front of her.

Once they were in the bedroom, he automatically took the left side of the bed as MJ settled down on the right, holding himself stiffly at the very edge of the mattress. He was as awkward and nervous as he’d been the first time he’d shared a bed with her, excruciatingly aware of his body and the heat of hers next to him, the comforter pulled up to his neck like he was some shy little virgin.

She fidgeted and shifted under the covers, huffing. “Swap sides with me,” she said, and Peter did as he was asked, shuffling to the right as she momentarily straddled him on her way to the other side of the bed. She sank into the mattress, wiggling and stretching her body like a cat on a sun-warmed patch of carpet. “That’s better,” she sighed contentedly, arching her back.

“What was wrong with this side?” he asked, inching closer to her.

“Your butt dent is in a different place to mine,” she told him, turning her back to him. “Get over here and spoon me, Parker.”

He slid one arm under his pillow and wrapped the other around her waist, pressing his chest to her back and tucking his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder. “That OK?”

“Feels nice,” she answered, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her stomach. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He shut his eyes, trying to block out the weirdness of being pressed up against his own body, concentrating on the familiar smell of MJ that surrounded him, trapped in the pillows and sheets. MJ quickly fell asleep, her breathing slowing and her body relaxing, the hand covering his slipping down to rest against the mattress.

Peter remained semi-alert, drifting off into not-quite-sleep, warm and relaxed until MJ was suddenly tearing herself out of his arms, startling him into full consciousness if not full lucidity. He watched as she backed into the corner of the room and up the wall, bracing herself halfway between the floor and ceiling, her face screwed up in distress and seeming pain.

It took Peter a moment to figure out what was going on, adding up all the little clues – MJ’s fidgeting, the complaints about itchy blankets, her choice of soft, worn clothing. She was in the middle of a full-blown sensory overload, something Peter hadn’t had in a long time, having learned to anticipate and divert an attack before it even started. He felt incredibly guilty, as their fight had most likely triggered this episode, and he hadn’t thought to tell MJ how to recognize the signs.

He pulled a soft, satiny sleep mask and a pair of earbuds from the nightstand before approaching her, as slowly and quietly as possible. She was crying soundlessly, tears rolling down her face, and her breathing was ragged and desperate.

“MJ. Keep your eyes closed and take my hand,” he whispered, barely audible, but she heard him anyway, and inched down the wall, her fingers curled trustingly around his. She cried out as her feet touched the floor, toes curling away from the carpet as though it were peppered with shards of glass.

“Hurts,” she rasped. “Everything. Hurts.”

He slipped the mask over her eyes and pushed the buds into her ears before leading her back to the bed, guiding her down onto the mattress and lifting the comforter up so she could curl in on herself. He opened an app on his phone, one Tony had designed for him that played a specific frequency of white noise designed to calm him during an overload, and hit play.

It was terrifying to watch, something he’d never considered; May had borne the brunt of his attacks through his mid-to-late teens, spent countless nights sitting with him until the overload passed and his stressed-out nervous system let him collapse into an exhausted sleep that lasted most of the following day. They’d always been at night, as though he’d had stored up all the stimuli during the day until it reached full capacity, then released it all at once, flooding his body like a toxin.

He could pinpoint the exact moment the attack released its grip on MJ, two hours after it started. Her shoulders, tight and hunched, suddenly softened, and she seemed to melt bonelessly into the mattress with a sigh of relief as her borrowed body dropped right back into sleep.

Shaken, Peter smoothed the covers over MJ, then picked up his phone, opening his chat with May and typing out a message. _MJ just had a sensory overload_

Despite the fact that it was after one am, May answered almost immediately. _Poor thing, how’s she doing?_

_She's asleep now. I’m sorry_

_What are you sorry for??_

_I didn't realize how scary they are to watch, I'm sorry you had to deal with that _

May sent him a strong of emojis, all love hearts and kisses. _All part of the mom gig, baby. I hope she’s ok. Love you both. Call me in the morning xxx_

_Love you x _He set his phone in the charging dock and settled down in bed, facing MJ but not touching her, knowing that the extra stimulation could be too much and tip her straight back into overload. He felt wide awake and fully expected to stare at the ceiling for at least the next few hours, but he closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know absolutely nothing about how neural prostheses or coding for them works, so any discussion about Tony's prosthetic arm is 100% bullshit on my part.


	4. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ is making progress in her Spider-Man boot camp, and Peter deals with an unanticipated side-effect of their body swap.
> 
> Please see the end notes for content warnings, as this chapter fully commits to the crack concept!

Peter watched with a critical eye as MJ back flipped from ten meters up, her form tightly controlled right up until she hit the safety mat and landed flat on her ass, rather than in the three-point stance he’d asked for.

“Again,” he said, ignoring the middle finger MJ extended in his direction. “Come on, get up.”

“No, fuck you,” she muttered, breathing heavily, but she staggered to her feet and fired an elastic web combo up to the platform before pulling back and slingshotting herself into the air. She landed neatly, without a wobble, then looked down at Peter. “If I get it right this time, can I take a break?”

He smirked at her. “Maybe. Show me what you’ve got.”

This time MJ stuck the landing, and she threw herself into Peter’s arms, giddy with her success. “Yes! Suck on that, Parker. Nailed it.” She picked him up and swung him around, setting him back down before darting in to kiss him.

He turned his head at the last moment, and her lips grazed his cheek instead of his mouth. Flustered, he placed his hands on MJ’s shoulders and gently pushed her back a step. “You’re doing great. Let’s take a break from this and do some hand to hand.”

He headed for the sparring area, trying to ignore the look of disappointment on her face. It’d had been almost three weeks since they swapped bodies, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to show any physical affection towards MJ bar holding hands and hugs, pulling away if she tried to initiate anything more. They’d always had a healthy, active love life, hadn’t gone this long without sex since their first awkward fumbles in the summer before college, and Peter knew that even though MJ was being incredibly understanding, she was getting frustrated. He was too, he missed the physical aspect of their relationship desperately, but he just couldn’t get past the fact that he’d be doing – stuff – to his own body, which would be doing things to his borrowed body in return that he just wasn’t ready to contemplate.

He ran through a few warm up exercises, knowing from recent painful experience that if he didn’t, he’d pay for it. He hadn’t had to do pre-exercise warm ups since being bitten, his muscles and joints seemingly in a perpetual state of readiness for action, but he’d pulled a hamstring their second day at the compound, MJ’s unenhanced body protesting at what he asked of it, and he’d learned his lesson.

MJ moved straight into the punching bag routine he’d shown her, using mostly low, sweeping kicks interspersed with blocking moves. He’d impressed upon her the importance of using defensive rather than offensive moves, and how to use just a small portion of the power her body was capable of to avoid accidentally hurting someone. She’d been struggling with holding back, obliterating a couple of punching bags and dummies before beginning to dial down her strength, learning what her new body was capable of. He was hoping that when Tony arrived tomorrow for Thanksgiving, he’d teach MJ some wing chun to help her slow things down a little.

He gestured for MJ to move away from the bag as he strapped on body padding and a helmet, and she caught the bag in the middle of its swing, stilling its movement. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You’re ready.” He assumed an offensive position and charged her, knocking her legs out from underneath her and sending her crashing to the mat. She growled at him and flipped back to her feet in a neat little move that he definitely hadn’t taught her. “Nice,” he complimented her, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I wasn’t ready,” she said, circling around him. “You cheated.”

“I’ll put out a memo to say that anyone fighting Spider-Man needs to give you advance notice.” He feinted towards her, throwing a punch that she blocked easily, then aimed a foot at her knee. She skipped to one side, his toes just brushing against her kneecap, then nimbly jumped up and over his head, landing behind him and nudging a foot against his ass, sending him stumbling to the mat.

He was already sore, MJ’s body unused to this kind of exercise - she was a runner, long and lean with no bulk - but he got back to his feet, turning to face her. “Now who’s cheating?”

She grinned wolfishly at him, pushing her sweat-soaked hair back from her face. “Me.” She rushed him, and he flipped her over his hip, but she grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down to the ground with her, pushing him against the mat and straddling him, his legs pinned between her thighs.

“Got you,” she said triumphantly, before looking suddenly mortified, just as Peter registered a growing hardness against the junction of his thighs and froze.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry,” MJ babbled, releasing Peter and falling on to her back next to him, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other draped across her abdomen. An erection tented the front of her sweatpants, and he winced in sympathy.

“It’s OK,” he said soothingly as he removed his safety equipment. “It happens all the time when I’m exercising. Don’t worry about it.”

She pulled at the material over her crotch, shifting uncomfortably. “Penises are ridiculous,” she complained. “This is so impractical.”

Impulsively, Peter moved closer, and hovered above her. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said decisively, and MJ’s arm dropped from her face.

“Huh?” She was very obviously suffering from lack of blood to the big head, because she was wearing an expression he could only describe as dim-witted, which was admittedly often the default for his face when he was in charge of it, but not something he was used to from MJ.

He took a deep breath, pushing back his nerves. He had to get over his hang-ups, and this seemed like a good place to start. “I’m going to kiss you. If that’s OK, I mean you might not want to right now, but you’ve been really patient with me and I know you want to do stuff, and I’m sorry I’ve been a shit boyfriend, but I’m just freaked out and …”

MJ lifted her head to close the distance between them, his eyes automatically closing as their lips met, and it really wasn’t any different to the way they kissed in their own bodies. Her lips were soft and slick beneath his, tasting of mint toothpaste and cherry chapstick, and her hand cradled his face like he was something precious.

“You good?” she asked, her lips breaking away from his to move down to his throat and then back up to his mouth, making him shiver with what he was pretty sure was arousal, a pulse between his legs accompanied by a thrill of anticipation.

“Yep.” Summoning every ounce of determination he possessed, he moved his hand to her waistband and dipped his fingers underneath the elastic, opening his eyes to make sure she was still on board with the direction their workout was taking.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, even as her hips bucked up towards him, and he kissed her again, moving his hand lower through coarse, wiry hair and wrapping his fingers around her dick – not his, not now and not for a while, because it _was_ hers, as bizarre as that seemed - and it wasn’t as weird as he’d thought, it felt familiar under his hand, felt just like all the times he’d jacked himself off. The breathy little gasps she was making in between kisses were the same, even if they were made with his voice, and she grasped at his arms, hard enough to bruise but he didn’t care, she was falling to pieces because of him, it was as hot as _fuck, _and he was more than a little turned on, desire twitching low in his belly.

“_Peter_,” she moaned, low and deep in her throat, her voice catching, and then heat pulsed over his fingers as she shuddered through her orgasm, her fingers digging into his biceps and her head thudding back against the mat as she softened under his grasp. Most of the mess was contained in her sweatpants, and he dragged his fingers along the lining as he removed his hand, wiping away the semen.

“Holy shit,” MJ panted, when she managed to get her breathing back under control. “That was – holy _shit_, Peter.” She pulled him down into an embrace and he relaxed against her, head pillowed on her chest, their legs entangled. “Do you – I can …” She fluttered her fingers languidly in the air.

“Not yet,” he said. “I know I need to get over myself,“- she laughed at his unintended double entendre - “but I’m not ready yet. That was really fucking hot though.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, and he sat up, crossing his legs. “We can do as little or as much as you want,” she said. “I mean, that was absolutely amazing, and I’ll happily do that over and over but we don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

He loved her so fucking much.

He stood up and offered her his hand, pulling her up to her feet. “Thank you for being so chill about this. I just need a bit more time.”

She kissed him, soft and sweet. “Whether it’s tomorrow or never, it doesn’t matter. I’m with you because you’re _you_, not because of your body. The important thing is that we love each other.”

Peter didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to do anything more than handjobs with MJ until they swapped back, but he could live with giving and not receiving if that was all he could bring himself to do. MJ was right; as great as the sex was, it was just one of the many layers of their relationship, and it didn’t define them as a couple. A year without sex wasn’t going to kill him.

****

Early evening found them laying entwined on the couch with a shitty reality show on the TV. Peter was exhausted and aching, his chest tender and his stomach cramping, and he’d put it down to too much exercise and not enough fluids.

MJ pulled away from him and stretched. “Hey, I’m going to run to the store, there’s a few things I want to pick up for dinner tomorrow. Do you wanna come with?”

The nearest store open late was a twenty-minute drive, and the thought of sitting in a car for any length of time held little appeal compared to lazing around on the couch for the rest of the night. “Do you mind if I don’t? I feel kinda crappy.”

She gave him an appraising look. “That’s fine. I’ll stop off at La Roma on the way back and get us a lasagna.”

He didn’t know how she’d managed to pick the perfect dinner when he didn’t even know that was what he wanted until she said it, but lasagna sounded amazing. “You sure you don’t mind?”

She assured him she didn’t and left him to his own devices, curled into a tight ball against the arm of the couch in an effort to relieve the discomfort in his abdomen. He really had to start remembering that MJ’s body wasn’t built to tolerate the level of exercise he was used to. She was in decent shape, took spin classes, ran, and did weights whenever Peter could coax her into the gym, but he was accustomed to a body that could lift multiple tons and catch vehicles, and his new limits were taking some getting used to.

After dozing for an hour or so, he reluctantly uncurled and went to the kitchen to grab plates and cutlery, debating setting places at the table for a moment before deciding it felt like a night for eating off their laps in front of the television. He took a couple of beers from the fridge and popped the lids off before taking everything back to the living room. MJ arrived shortly after, laden down with takeout boxes and bags, and she gestured for Peter to take the food as she juggled the bags like they weighed nothing.

He inhaled a portion of the family-sized lasagna, along with salad and garlic bread, and made MJ finish the rest of it as she still wasn’t eating enough to sustain his body’s weird-ass metabolism and he was constantly bugging her to eat something.

Before he met Tony, he’d bumped up his calorie intake by eating multiple shitty street cart dogs or burgers loaded with cheese – he’d had a regular route with a dozen vendors who would give him freebies when they closed up for the day – and downing sugary drinks. Once Tony got involved in his life beyond giving him a suit, he’d run an assload of tests to establish Peter’s baselines, nearly had a sympathetic heart-attack when he found out Peter’s diet, then recruited a nutritionist who specialized in superhuman metabolism. He’d wound up with a 10,000 calories a day meal plan and a stern warning to eat a balanced diet or get scurvy, but sometimes he struggled with the sheer amount of food he needed to eat, and MJ was having the same problem.

Stuffed full, he pushed his plate away and laced his fingers across his stomach, feeling bloated and tight. “I ate too much,” he moaned.

MJ was still plowing through the lasagna. “Your stomach hurts?” At his nod, she picked up a canvas bag she’d left at her feet and dropped it on his lap. “It isn’t just because you ate too much. I got you a few things.”

He opened the bag, pulling out acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and heat pads. A rummage deeper in the bag unearthed sanitary pads and tampons, along with a party sized bag of chips and a one-pound slab of chocolate. “Nooooooo,” he whined, as realization struck.

“Yes. You’re actually a day late, so it should be any time now.” She picked up her phone and typed for a moment, before Peter’s phone vibrated on the table. “I’ve just sent you a link to the cycle tracking app I use and my log in info so you can have a heads up that it’s coming.”

Fuck his life. Seriously, _fuck_ his life.

***

2 am found him hunched miserably on the toilet, feeling sick and his stomach cramping as his body ejected a torrent of liquid food that dated back to his fucking _childhood._ He glared down at the blood-stained underwear puddled around his ankles, then looked at the massive sheet of instructions from the tampon box, complete with diagrams and warnings of something called toxic shock syndrome. It seemed pretty straightforward, but he’d only owned a vagina for eighteen days and the idea of sticking anything inside it was slightly terrifying.

When the diarrhea finally let up, he quickly showered off the blood staining his inner thighs then took a tampon from the box. It took three tampons and two attempts to insert one correctly, and then he lined a clean pair of panties with two pads laid end to end, as advised by MJ during a discussion earlier that evening that had felt oddly like being back in his middle school reproductive health class.

Hands washed, and wearing a new pair of pajamas, he crept back into the bedroom, trying not to disturb MJ, but she was already awake and winced when she saw him. “Sorry. They can make you feel really shitty.”

He took the glass of water and pills she held out to him. “Speaking of shitty, is diarrhea normal?” he asked, downing the medication as MJ peeled the backing off a heat pad. “Because I think I just lost four pounds on the toilet.”

She lifted his shirt and pressed the pad low down on his abdomen. “Period shits? Yeah, that’s normal. I mean, not for everyone, but it is for me most months.”

He settled back down in bed, the heating pad radiating warmth through his abdomen and already beginning to ease some of the cramping. “I can’t believe people have to deal with this every month, it sucks.”

“Sometimes twice if you’re lucky and start on the first of the month,” MJ said as she pulled the comforter up over them. “The pills should kick in soon. The first day is usually the worst, you should be feeling better by tomorrow afternoon.”

“This isn’t something I’d ever thought I’d be dealing with,” he admitted, seeking out her hand. “This has been the weirdest couple of weeks.”

“I can’t even give you grief for it, you’ve always earned top boyfriend points for the amount of tampon and snack runs you’ve made for me. Some guys can’t even handle saying the word period, let alone knowing and buying my favourite brand and size of pad and that I crave Spicy Nacho Doritos.” She tucked her head under his chin and her foot between his. “I probably have at least another thirty years of this to look forward to, so thanks for taking a year’s worth for me.”

He ran his hand lazily up and down her back. “I know this whole stupid curse thing has completely messed up our plans, but I kind of feel like it’s already made us closer, you know?”

“Hmmmm,” MJ murmured. “I understand why you have to be Spider-Man now. I mean, I knew why before, but now I _get _it. It feels so natural, like not doing it would actually hurt.”

He smiled as he felt her kiss his collarbone. “Wait until you’re out there swinging from building to building. It’s amazing, Em, that feeling of weightlessness and escape, and it’s so instinctual. You’ll love it.”

He didn’t get an answer. She’d fallen asleep in his arms.

***

“Petey!”

A little body barrelled into Peter, wrapping him up in a tight hug that he returned just as enthusiastically. “Hey Morgy-Moo. Happy Thanksgiving.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head before she pulled away and gave MJ a similar greeting, who showed off and picked Morgan up for a hug, making her shriek and flail her legs.

He found May, Tony, Pepper and Happy in the kitchen, dropping off a variety of covered dishes, and hugs and greeting were exchanged. After releasing him, May tucked a long curl behind his ear. “We brought you a surprise, baby.”

“Oooh, gimme!” he said, making grabby hands, and May put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around to face the door to the garage.

Ned waved at him. “Hey, man.”

Peter tackled him with a shriek, almost pulling him down to the ground. “I thought you were staying in California for Thanksgiving, dude!”

As Tony muttered something about traitors who ran away to intern at _Goo-fucking-gle_, Ned started their handshake. “They totally weren’t lying when they told me that you’re in MJ’s body right now,” he said, as they ended on finger guns.

In his excitement, Peter had forgotten that he was technically MJ and the most physical she ever got with Ned was to fist bump. It was probably a bit disconcerting for Ned to have his best friend’s girlfriend launch herself at him and basically climb him like a tree. “They’re not lying,” he shrugged. “But how come you’re home? I thought your mom and dad were on vacation?”

“Mr. Stark said you needed your man in the chair and flew me out here on his _private jet_ Peter, it was awesome, Happy even let me sit in the co-pilot seat for like five minutes - by the way Mr. Stark, thank you for bringing me out here, I only had enough money to fly home for Christmas so this was totally unexpected.” Six months in California hadn’t changed Ned in the slightest, and Peter pulled him in for another hug, overwhelmed with affection for his best friend.

“I missed you,” he said, dismayed to hear his voice waver, but Ned patted his back and didn’t call him out on it as he told Peter he’d missed him too.

MJ nodded at Ned. “S’up.” They fist bumped and Ned looked back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s so obvious that you’ve swapped. You never look this cool, Peter.”

MJ laughed and Peter frowned. “Thanks, Ned.”

“You know what I mean, man! No offence, but MJ is just“ - Ned waved his hands around – “MJ, you know?”

Peter did know. MJ had an indefinable something that made her stand out, a refusal to blend in with the masses. “I know,” he said, with a look at MJ that made Ned fake-gag and complain about them being sickeningly in love.

Greetings over, they set about heating up the various dishes everyone had contributed towards the meal. MJ had taken the turkey out to rest a half hour ago and directed Operation Thanksgiving like a seasoned pro, coordinating multiple ovens and burners and ensuring May didn’t set fire to anything.

Once their long, leisurely dinner was over and everything tidied away, Peter slipped away out onto the patio, cocooning himself in blankets until only his eyes could be seen and slumping on to the swing seat. The sky was a deep, cloudless black scattered with stars, and it was cold enough that he could see his breath. He still didn’t feel all that great -though the cramping had died down to a background ache - and he had a dull headache that just wouldn’t quit. As much as he loved his weirdo family, they were a lot all at once, and he just needed a few minutes alone to come up for air.

“How you doing, baby?”

Peter pushed the blanket down from his head as May dropped onto the seat next to him, wrapped in her own blanket. She snuggled in against him, and they swung quietly back and forth for a moment, heads together, before he answered her.

“I’m doing alright, I guess. I’m tired. Periods suck.”

May guided him down to lay his head in her lap, her hand resting on the curve of his hip. “I hadn’t even thought about you having to deal with periods. This really is the weirdest experience for the two of you, isn’t it?”

“MJ is handling it much better than I am,” he admitted. “You’d think she’d had my powers all her life.”

“She’s just as out of her depth as you are, kiddo, she just hides things away. You’ve always been an open book. That’s why the two of you work so well together, you balance one another out.” May started the swing moving again, her fingers tapping gently against his upper thigh.

“MJ wants to have sex with me,” he said, the words slipping out before he could think about it. “Sorry. It’s just stressing me out and I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. She’s being totally cool about it, but I’m freaking out and I don’t know how to stop.”

“Of course it’s going to stress you out, and I know that MJ gets that. What’s the main thing bothering you? The fact that you’d be having sex with a man, or that you’d be having sex with your body?”

He was glad he couldn’t see her face because he knew he was blushing something fierce. He’d always had an open and candid relationship with May, and she’d raised him to have a healthy, responsible attitude towards sex, but he couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed discussing this with his aunt. “The fact that it’s my body, I guess. I – um, I helped her out yesterday, after a workout, and I was fine with that, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to – you know.”

“And that’s OK,” May assured him. “Just don’t over think things, and go with the moment. You’ll know if and when it feels right. And anyway, intimacy is more than a penis in a vagina. Some couples never have penetrative sex but still have a fantastic love life.” She started to laugh. “I swear we had this conversation ten years ago. Everything I said in your first birds and the bees talk applies to this situation too. You’re in charge of your body, one yes doesn’t mean yes forever so always get consent, you’re responsible for making sure you use protection. If something doesn’t feel right, you can stop -”

“Maaaaay,” he groaned. “I got it, I got it. Thanks.”

“Plus you know having sex with your own body is basically masturbation, right?”

“_MAY_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks this fic's move towards its E rating, and contains sexual content and frank discussion about menstruation.


	5. Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As New York welcomes 2030, MJ heads out to fight her first proper Big Bad.

By the time December was drawing to a close they were back in Queens, and MJ was patrolling weekends and on an as needed basis during the week. She’d sailed through the training wheels protocol and had taken to web swinging like she was born to it.

Peter was incredibly proud of her. She’d worked her ass off to complete the training and had taken down a drug syndicate on her second night out as Spider-Man, leaving them neatly packaged up for the NYPD. He’d been her man in the chair for her first few patrols, offering support on comms, and she was a quieter, less quippy Spider-Man, efficient and all business, though sometimes she let her sarcasm flow.

Nearly two months into their body swap, they’d settled into their change of circumstances, Peter returning to his internship with Tony, and MJ hanging out in the lab with them, running through patrol simulations in VR and honing her reflexes. Her internship wasn’t due to start until January 2nd, so she was making the most of her free time, constantly challenging her new abilities and learning her limits.

New Year’s Eve found Peter sitting in front of a mirror in Pepper’s dressing room, as a very expensive and in demand hair stylist worked on his hair, fashioning MJ’s long curls into an intricate up do with tiny accent braids. He’d spent the afternoon being waxed and massaged and smothered in lotion and he’d rather have been thrown into a sewer - which had happened to him not once, but twice, so he had data to compare the two experiences. He’d tolerated a leg and underarm wax – MJ couldn’t give a shit about body hair and didn’t care that he hadn’t shaved his legs or pits since they’d swapped, but Pepper had talked him into it – though he’d point blank refused when the beautician offered to do his bikini line.

Getting ready for the annual Stark NYE party usually saw him with Tony, Happy and Rhodey, having a haircut and a hot towel shave, then pulling on the expensive, tailored tux Tony gifted him every year before sitting around gossiping and sipping at scotch. Well, everyone but Peter, who had Dr Pepper instead because he’d coughed for fifteen minutes the first and last time he’d had scotch, and his taste buds were too sensitive for drinking alcohol to be pleasurable. It was a strange experience, because even with his obscene wealth, Tony was just Tony, but the New Year’s Eve ritual came across as peak rich white guy.

This year, MJ had been kidnapped by Tony and taken off for the ‘guy stuff’, and a protesting Peter had been led off to be ‘pampered’, taking MJ’s place in her own usual New Year routine. He frowned at Pepper, sitting next to him as another hair stylist twisted her hair into a smooth, neat loop at the nape of her neck. “Remind me again why I have to do this?”

“Because you have to look fabulous for the party,” Pepper said, as her hair was declared finished and a makeup artist stepped in. “Peter Parker is seen as one of the potential heirs to SI, so you have to look the part of a woman engaged to a man who is going to be very successful.”

“Well that’s a load of patriarchal bullshit,” he complained, finishing the champagne he’d been given, and trying not to flinch away as his own makeup artist went to work. “MJ – I mean, I don’t need makeup, or any of this. And I’m going to Columbia to read law, I’m going to be successful in my own right. I’m not just an accessory for Peter.” He hated being around people who didn’t know about the whole body swap situation – it was too easy to accidentally slip up and use the wrong pronouns.

“I was the youngest female CEO of a Fortune 500 company and I’m expected to dress like a Barbie doll for events where Tony can show up in jeans and a suit jacket and nobody bats an eyelid because he’s ‘eccentric’. It _is_ bullshit that society expects it, but I dress like this for me, nobody else. I enjoy it.” Pepper paused for a moment and then smirked. “Though Tony enjoys it too, especially when we get back home.” She laughed at Peter’s quiet but disgusted “Eew”.

May appeared from the bathroom, wearing a red dress that clung to her body right down to the knees, before flaring sharply out, her hair left long and loose. She handed Peter another glass of champagne, standing behind him and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You look beautiful, honey.”

She was right. MJ looked amazing, the deceptively simple makeup enhancing her eyes and lips, but Peter felt stiff and self-conscious, which he knew wasn’t far from how MJ would be feeling if she was in her own body. He had a whole new appreciation for the fact that she went through this every year just because she was in a relationship with him. Societal expectations sucked balls.

Makeup done, Peter was dragged off behind the dressing screen by his aunt, who helped him out of the robe he was wearing and into the dress MJ had picked out months ago. It had a tight, corseted bodice that left his shoulders bare, and a full, emerald green skirt that brushed the floor, slit to mid-thigh on one side. MJ had been kind to him and found a pair of satin covered flats for him to wear, rather than the heels she’d originally intended, because he was pretty sure he’d have broken an ankle if he’d tried walking in the stilettos.

He attempted to put earrings in but failed miserably, so May took over, pushing the posts through the holes he kept missing, then helping him with the matching necklace and bracelet. He felt like a doll, dressed up and primped for display. The clothing didn’t bother him – years of swinging around in form-fitting spandex had utterly obliterated any sense of modesty he had about his body, as himself or as MJ – but it just all felt so unnecessary.

“Time to go,” Pepper said, popping her head around the screen. “Our dates are waiting for us.”

Peter moved to follow and trod on the hem of his dress, stumbling, before working out that he needed to hold the skirt up out of the way, bunching his fists in the fabric at mid-thigh so that it cleared his shoes. “Stupid dresses,” he muttered as he followed Pepper and May into the elevator.

May tutted and fussed at his dress, settling the flounces evenly around his legs. “I told MJ the dress needed heels, but she said she wants two fully functioning ankle joints when she gets her body back.”

The two women made it look so easy and effortless, swishing out of the elevator ahead of Peter. He felt clumsy and awkward, completely out of his element, concentrating so hard on walking somewhat gracefully that he crashed into MJ, who steadied him with both of her hands grasping his upper arms.

“I look pretty,” she said, grinning at him.

“I do too,” he laughed, smoothing down the lapels of the tux she wore and leaning in for a kiss. “The hair looks good.”

She self-consciously brushed a hand across her head. She hadn’t had a haircut since they’d switched, and up until that morning had been sporting fluffy, wild waves, unused to dealing with short hair and opting to just let Peter’s hair do what it wanted. The curls had been tamed and styled the way Peter preferred, cropped shorter at the sides and back and left longer on top (nobody was allowed to talk about The Stress Buzz Cut of 2027, when Peter, running on three hours of sleep over forty-seven hours, juggling finals and a bad guy that wouldn’t quit, had decided at 6am that a buzz cut would save time and had impulsively shaved his head. He’d regretted it immediately and spent the next three months wearing a beanie in one of the hottest summers on record). “I don’t like having short hair. But I like this haircut on you.”

Peter kissed her again, ignoring May’s warning that he’d smudge his lipstick. “Do you enjoy all of this?” He gestured to his makeup and dress. “Because I’ve got to say it’s a massive pain in the ass, and I’m _never _having my legs waxed again, that shit hurts.”

She shrugged. “I can’t be bothered most of the time, but sometimes it’s nice to get all dressed up and have someone make me look good for things like this. Like, fuck standards of beauty and dressing for the male gaze, but it’s OK to do this for myself.” She looked defiant, like she expected him to laugh at her, but he knew she knew he’d never do that.

He pitied any person who tried to make MJ do something she didn’t want to, but he had been worried that she felt pressured to conform to expectations. He really should have known better. If MJ had been of a mind to, she would have shown up in combat boots and jeans and walked in looking like the most regal person in the room, head held high.

“Good,” he said, sliding his hand into the crook of her arm. “Now, treat me like a lady and escort me into the party, I can’t walk in this fucking dress.”

***

Three hours later, Peter was beginning to flag. There was still over an hour to go until midnight, the corset was beginning to feel restrictive rather than supportive, and his face hurt from all the fake smiling he’d had to do as MJ networked her way around the room, doing a stellar Peter Parker impersonation. In fact, she was better at this part of his life than he was. As much as he liked to run his mouth, he hated making small talk with a bunch of people he didn’t know and had no interest in, but surprisingly, MJ, known for her sparing and exacting use of words, was a natural. She glad-handed her way around the assorted businessmen and women, charming them all with a quiet confidence that Peter envied.

“How are you doing that?” he hissed in a moment of peace, snagging a glass from the waiter passing by and taking a sip. Champagne again – he was getting a taste for it, MJ’s unenhanced taste-buds apparently appreciative of the crisp sweetness.

“Doing what?” She frowned at the alcohol in his hand. He guessed he was a little bit tipsy, but the alcohol was taking the edge off his nerves.

“Talking to all these people. I could never do that.”

MJ took the glass from him, replacing it with a hors d’oeuvre. “Of course you could. You _have._ I’m just copying what I’ve seen you do. People really like you. You just need to have more confidence in yourself.” As she spoke, her watch chimed softly, a red light pulsing through the cuff of her shirt, and she stiffened. “Is that …”

“… the big bad alert?” Peter finished for her. “Yeah.” The alert was only set to go off within the strictest of parameters, for incidents involving civilians and the potential for mass casualties, and it was the first time it had activated since MJ had taken on the mantle of Spider-Man.

She tapped the watch face, scrolling through the precis that Karen had sent. “There’s a localized snow and ice storm around One Times Square,” she said. “Nobody can get out or in.”

Given that it had been an unseasonably warm day and the temperature hadn’t dropped below fifty-seven, it seemed unlikely that it was a natural phenomenon. “You’d better go. Make sure you turn the heater on in the suit.” He tried really hard to keep his voice casual, even though he was terrified. This sounded like it was potentially big, and MJ had only dealt with lower level stuff up until now.

They kissed, and MJ went over to Tony, leaning in close and whispering something, before being sent off with a clap on the shoulder. A few minutes later, Peter caught a glimpse of blue and red swooping past the window in the direction of 45th, a route that would require a 300-foot freefall before MJ could anchor a web on the top floor of 335 Madison.

People had caught on to the fact that something was happening, phones buzzing with news notifications and stay in place advisories from the emergency alert system. When Peter walked over to the floor to ceiling windows, he could see a total whiteout obscuring the buildings surrounding Times Square, which he knew would be packed with people waiting to see in the New Year.

May and Pepper were suddenly there, bracketing him, and he instinctively reached for their hands. “I can’t deal with this,” he murmured, and he didn’t know exactly what it was he couldn’t deal with; the fact that MJ was out there, swinging towards who knew what, or that it wasn’t _him_. He missed it so much, craved the feeling of flipping and somersaulting through the air, the rush of going toe to toe with the latest villain of the week. It was far easier being the one rushing headlong into danger.

“C’mon kiddo, let’s go sit somewhere quiet.” May pulled him away from the window and they walked with Pepper to the living room on the residential level, cozy and peaceful away from the party. He turned the TV on, ignoring May and Pepper’s protests and their gentle urging for him to sit down. Times Square was a less than five-minute swing away from the tower, so he knew MJ had most likely already arrived, and if he couldn’t talk to her on comms, watching her was the next best thing.

The snowstorm was blanket coverage on every news channel he flicked through. He settled on CNN, for no reason other than he liked Anderson Cooper, and found his voice reassuring. They had a spotty link up with him from inside the snowstorm, the video just blank white with the occasional flash of colour, the audio cutting in and out as he described what was happening, how some guy, aptly calling himself Blizzard, was standing at the foot of One Times Square, his gauntlet the focal point for the snow and ice.

Fucking gauntlets. They never caused anything other than trouble.

He could just make out a Spider-Man colored blur behind Cooper, and the swirling snow suddenly stopped, revealing crowds of people standing in knee high drifts, ill-dressed for the unexpected weather. The camera focused on MJ, spring-boarding off walls and swinging from webs as Blizzard fired frozen snowflakes at her like shuriken, the icy projectiles shattering into hundreds of pieces as they missed their target.

As MJ fired a web at a streetlight and propelled herself up into an arching swing, a snowflake cut through the strand, sending her crashing to the ground. She turned the fall into a roll but Blizzard was quick, firing the gauntlet at her, and she was trapped up to the neck in a solid block of ice. The wide, white eyes of the mask began to slip closed, MJ clearly close to passing out from the extreme cold as Blizzard encased himself in a suit of ice, making himself twelve feet tall and six feet wide, a human iceberg.

“Thermal webs,” Peter hissed under his breath, as Tony entered the room. “Come on, MJ.”

“I have a suit ready to deploy, Pete. Her vitals are dropping close to the lower limit,” Tony said. “If you want me to send it now, just give me the word.”

As the ball continued to drop and 23:58 ticked over to 23:59, MJ’s ice prison began to steam then blew apart in a shower of icy shards, releasing her to spring up into the air. Shooting regular webs to swing around on with one hand, she fired thermal webbing with the other, lashing it around Blizzard’s icy limbs, melting great chunks off and leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

At the stroke of midnight, confetti fluttering around her and fireworks painting the sky with noisy bursts of color, MJ webbed the gauntlet off Blizzard’s hand and Times Square erupted with noise, a dual celebration welcoming 2030 and cheering for Spider-Man as she bound him tightly with web, creating a neat little package for the police to collect.

“She did good,” Tony commented, as they watched MJ release several police officers from their blocks of ice before flipping over the barricades and making her way through the revelers, pausing for selfies and high-fives. People were making the most of the snow, a spontaneous mass snowball fight breaking out, and MJ joined in, much to the delight of everyone around her.

“She did.” Peter sagged with relief when he saw MJ shoot a web and pull herself up out of the crowd, saluting the police officers as she ascended out of the camera shot. That meant she was coming back to him. “I liked the aes – the aesth – the way it looked. With the fireworks and the fluttery stuff.” His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, and he felt loose-limbed and slightly off-kilter, almost like he had a concussion.

Tony guffawed at him. “Pete, are you drunk?” he said, delight evident in his voice. “Never thought I’d get to see you hammered.”

If this was being drunk, Peter didn’t get why people sought out the feeling so much - he just wanted to have something to eat, then a nap. He’d been drinking most of the night and didn’t understand why it had suddenly crept up on him. “Uh – maybe? I guess. I had – “ – he counted off on his fingers, having to concentrate to make sure his pointer finger touched his fingertips, and was temporarily confused when he had to switch to his other hand – “ – six glasses of champagne. And a big blue drink, tasted like oranges, even though it looked like a Smurf. Um. So seven. Seven drinks.”

“Thank god it wasn’t more than ten, you’d have had to take your shoes off,” Tony commented wryly. “No wonder you’re blitzed, kid. Between the booze and the stress, I’m surprised you’re not on the floor.”

Being on the floor sounded great, so Peter sank down to sit cross-legged on the rug, his back against the couch and his skirts poofing up around him in a cloud of fancy, shimmery material that he couldn’t remember the name of. “Have we got any food? ‘m hungry.”

May sat next to him, kicking off her heels, and pulled Pepper down to join her. “Yeah Tony, we’re hungry. Feed us.”

Tony crossed his arms and scowled down at the three of them. “But the movie said to never feed Gremlins after midnight.” He covered his face with his arms as Pepper threw a cushion at him. “OK, OK! I’ll go find you some food. MJ should be back soon, and she’ll probably need feeding up after that workout she just had.”

“Mogwai.”

Tony looked quizzically at Peter. “Huh?”

“Mogwai,” Peter enunciated carefully. “Don’t feed Mogwai after midnight. ‘Cause they turn into Gremlins. But Gremlins can eat after midnight ‘cause they’re already Gremlins, so they can’t turn into Gremlins.”

Tony opened his mouth, then apparently decided against replying, turning on his heel and heading off in what Peter hoped was a search for food, because he was actually_ starving_.

Tony not only returned with food, carrying trays of leftover party nibbles, he returned with Happy, who was carrying even more food, and MJ, who had changed into sweats and was wrapped in multiple blankets. She was shivering, her lips tinged with blue, but she looked almost exultant, grinning widely as she jammed herself in between Peter and May.

“That was insane!” she exclaimed, very obviously in the grips of an adrenaline high. “Did you see any of that?”

Peter waved a hand in the vague direction of the TV, which was showing the footage of the fight again. “We watched. You were ‘mazin’. ‘Mazin’ Spider-Man.” He took the platter Tony was holding out to him, resting it across his lap and letting out a happy little _Yes! _when he saw it held bruschetta and chicken satay.

“He’s drunk?” MJ asked the room in general, as Peter offered her a satay skewer and nearly poked her in the eye. At the round of nods, she frowned. “Parker, you’re making me look like a lightweight.”

He bit into a bruschetta, scattering crumbs down his front. “I like champagne when I’m you. Your tongue likes champagne.”

“You’re going to feel like shit in the morning,” MJ warned him. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” She got gracefully to her feet, then offered Peter a hand.

He considered it, then took it, shifting the tray to his other hand. “’kay. But I’m bringing this with me.” That got him an eye-roll as they made their goodbyes and headed for their room, MJ tugging him down the corridor leading to the bedrooms.

He let her undress him, her cold fingers nimble as she loosened the ribbon holding the corset together, sliding the dress down his body and holding his hand as he stepped out of the pile of fabric, leaving him in his underwear. Once he’d pulled on the over-sized t-shirt he’d packed to sleep in, she made him sit on the bed next to her and gently removed all the bobby pins holding his hair in place before combing it through and twisting it into a loose braid.

She caught him smiling dopily at her as she wiped off his makeup. “What? Do I have satay sauce on me or something?”

“I just really love you,” he said, and she visibly softened.

“Of course you’re a soppy drunk, you loser.” She leaned in for a kiss, just a quick buss of the lips, but Peter felt that now-familiar aching pulse of desire in his groin and he deepened the kiss, straddling her lap and threading his fingers into her hair, his palms resting on her cheekbones.

“Let’s have sex,” he whispered, quivering as one of her hands came to rest on his bare thigh, and the other, his waist. He wanted more, needed to be pressed up against her, feel her breath hot and ragged against his throat, and he didn’t care that she’d be fucking him instead of him fucking her, because they’d be taking that next step together, their first time for a second time, and he trusted her with his life. He now knew why people liked alcohol – he felt uninhibited, his reservations about having sex in MJ’s body gone, and he just wanted to be close to her in every way possible.

“Peter, no.”

He pouted, moving his kisses down to mouth at her jawline as he instinctively rocked against the erection he could feel growing in her pants. “MJ. Yes.”

She pulled away from him, stilling his movements. “Peter. You’re drunk. I know this probably seems like a good idea, but you’re not sober enough to properly consent, and I’m not going to take advantage of that, OK? I don’t want to do it like this.” She softened the blow with another kiss. “I love you. When the time is right, I am fully on board for fucking, but you’re going to have to be able to correctly pronounce the word ‘amazing’, because you’ll be saying it a _lot_.”

He giggled – actually _giggled_, like he was a child again, and let MJ settle him into the huge bed, the two of them tangling their limbs together under the down-filled comforter, heads sharing the same pillow. Her feet were still freezing cold, even through her socks.

“Tonight was the biggest rush I’ve ever experienced,” MJ said. “I didn’t have to think about where or when to swing, it was like my body just knew.”

“It’s the best,” he agreed. “_You’re_ the best.”

“Does the fighting ever stop being terrifying?” She began to play with his braid, twisting the curled end around her finger, her expression open and vulnerable, a side of herself she showed to very few people.

“T’night was ‘n outlier,” he slurred, sleepy and warm. “There’s usually less fightin’ and more webbin’.” He closed his eyes. “But no. Never stops bein’ terrifyin’. The mask makes it easier, though. People can’t see I’m scared.”

“I never knew you felt like that,” MJ said, her voice soft and sad.

“’s’ok. Tony said he was always scared as Iron Man, and that being a hero means bein’ scared but doing it anyway.” He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed. “Love you.”

“Love you, you utter dork. Go to sleep.”

MJ was absolutely the boss of him, so he did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, Tony cancelled the sale of Stark/Avengers Tower in the weeks after Homecoming, keeping it as his base in the city and giving Peter access to the labs and his own room.
> 
> I know very little about the character of Blizzard, as I haven't read many comics. I just googled for a villain who matched what I wanted, watched Spider-Man on Ice, and went with it.


	6. Closer than Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally feels ready to take the next step in his changed relationship with MJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter very much earns the Explicit rating for both language and sexual content so please do not read this chapter if you don't like reading sex scenes, or if you are below the age of 18. There is nothing in this chapter that advances the plot, other than further cementing the strength of Peter and MJ's relationship, so you'll be able to pick up this story in the next chapter with no problems. This is as PWP as you can get.

Whilst Peter had sworn off alcohol for the rest of his life following the hangover from Hell, he had to admit that drunk Peter was right about one thing – he was ready to have sex with MJ.

The only problem was, between their internships and Spider-Man duties, the time they’d been alone together following New Year’s Eve was mostly spent asleep, MJ exhausted after patrol and crashing as soon as she crawled into bed.

But it was finally Sunday morning, they had nothing planned all day until MJ’s patrol that evening, and Peter was determined that by the time she put on the suit, he’d be well and truly fucked.

Because he was a scientist to his very core, he’d spent his downtime researching what it was like to have penetrative sex when in possession of a vagina. MJ had told him to try getting himself off to learn what he liked, but he’d tried once and given himself wrist ache after ten unsatisfying minutes of pointless friction, so he’d quickly abandoned that idea, plus it still felt wrong to be doing things to MJ’s body when she wasn’t there to voice her consent - never mind the fact that he was the one inhabiting it. Given that he prided himself on knowing how to make MJ orgasm so hard she shook, it was frustrating that he couldn’t put that knowledge to use on himself.

Freshly showered, he positioned himself in the middle of their bed, waiting for MJ to finish her own shower. He wasn’t sure how to lay – it seemed weird to assume a sensual pose, given that he would be displaying MJ’s body – so he settled for crossing his legs at the ankle, and his linking his hands behind his head. He’d left his hair down and he was wearing the silky short pajamas he loved on MJ, because they showed off her long legs.

He had condoms and lube ready on the nightstand, a speaker quietly playing a sex playlist he’d found on Spotify that would meet MJ’s approval as it was composed entirely of female artists, and he’d dimmed the lights to a soft glow. It all felt staged, and usually they were more spontaneous, but he wanted MJ to be completely sure that he was ready.

When MJ returned from the bathroom - wrapped in a towel from her knees up to her armpits, a habit she hadn’t been able to break – she paused in the doorway, taking it all in. “You want to …”

“Yep,” Peter confirmed. “1000% yes. You?”

MJ dropped the towel and the stirring erection Peter saw was answer enough. “Hell yes.” She stalked towards him a little inelegantly and stretched out next to him on the bed. “How are we doing this?”

It was a little awkward and reminded him of their _first_ first time, the evening of MJ’s 18th birthday at the start of a long, lazy summer before they headed off to college. Peter had been so over-stimulated he’d came just putting on the condom, MJ hadn’t orgasmed at all, and it had just been a vaguely disappointing affair lasting approximately ninety seconds. They’d made up for it their second time, however.

“Let’s just start out kissing, and see where we go from there,” he said, turning on to his side to face her. Kissing was familiar and easy, and usually led to wandering hands, so it seemed like a good place to start.

They started out slow, chaste little kisses gradually becoming sloppier, more demanding, tongue meeting tongue and teeth pulling at lips. Peter felt his pulse quicken, and warmth pool between his legs, but as MJ trailed her kisses down his throat, he didn’t respond with his usual shiver of arousal. He could feel it burning low, but it felt out of reach, like something was keeping it back. Usually, MJ going to work on his neck would have him turned on in a heartbeat.

He growled with frustration, arching his neck to give her better access, and as he did, her hand brushed against his nipple, making his breath stutter. She stopped to look at him, and her fingers slipped under the silk to caress the underside of his breast with a feather-light touch that resulted in a gasp.

“Don’t touch me like I’m me,” she said, moving to unbutton his shirt and settling in between his legs. “Touch me like I’m you.”

As MJ licked a long strip between his breasts, Peter twisted his fingers in her hair, something he loved when she did it to him, and then her mouth was on his breast, her tongue swirling around the tightening nub of his nipple, and _ohhhhh_, no wonder she liked it when he did that to her, it was like a ripple of pleasure running through his body that made his toes curl and his nerves spark.

She moved further down, completely opening his shirt to fully expose his chest and dropping kisses on his stomach. When she reached the waistband of his shorts, she undid the ribbon and he raised his hips, letting her slide the material down his legs. The shorts hit the floor and Peter nearly hit the ceiling as MJ trailed her finger along the crease of his groin, her touch teasing but firm enough to be pleasurable rather than ticklish.

She knelt between his thighs and looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You good?” At his nod, her mouth descended lower and oh, _fuck_, her tongue dragged over his clit and he writhed underneath her, letting go of her hair and throwing his arms out to the side as she slid a couple of fingers inside him.

His breathing became harsh and ragged as she moved her fingers and flicked her tongue over the sensitive bud of his clit, and then he was coming hard. It wasn’t all that different to orgasming in his own body, the growing tension building and then releasing all at once, a spasming pulse that made him cry out and squeeze his eyes tightly shut as he rode the wave of pleasure that coursed through him. Going down on MJ was one of his favorite things to do, because he loved seeing her gradually come undone beneath his mouth, and it felt just as good being on the receiving end of that.

MJ smirked at him. “I take it you enjoyed that?” she asked, and he pulled her down for a kiss, the familiar taste of her on what used to be his lips.

“Jesus, Em,” he panted. “Remind me to do that to you more often when we switch back, because _damn_.”

She pressed a condom into his hand. “Please?” she said, her fingers dipping back between his legs and stroking him languidly, making him twitch.

He ripped the packet open and rolled the condom onto her erection. He’d never expected to see his own dick at this angle, and it almost took him out of the moment until he looked at her face, his features wearing such an MJ expression of arousal that there was no doubting who was in charge of his body. She bit her lip as his fingers brushed against her, dick jumping in response when he slicked it with lube.

Peter lay back, letting MJ part his knees and settle between his thighs, and he felt her nudge at his crotch, seeking his entrance. He instinctively tilted his hips and then the head of her dick slipped inside him, making him freeze with the sudden feeling of fullness stretching him almost to the point of pain.

MJ stilled along with him, leaning down for a reassuring kiss. “Give it a moment,” she said, reaching down between them to stroke gentle fingers over where their bodies were joined.

He reached around to grab her ass, opening his legs wider and planting his feet firmly on the mattress. “You can move,” he whispered, and he rocked in time with her as she slid in inch by inch until she was in him up to the root, and the fullness was joined by a tingling heat that was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

She began to move, thrusting slowly in and out of him, and he switched his hands to grasp her shoulders, clutching at her desperately. His arousal was building again, and he could feel his body working to draw her in, throbbing around her, and just as the feeling began to peak, MJ came, throwing her head back as she pulsed inside him, before collapsing on top of him, panting like she’d just run a marathon.

Arousal still curled deep in his belly, unfulfilled, and he moaned as she pulled out of him, tying off the condom and dropping it into the waste basket beside the bed. Then her hand was back between his legs, bringing him back to the summit and making him come again, a gentle shuddering wave this time that left him feeling completely relaxed.

Both of them were slick with sweat and breathing heavily, and he pulled her down to rest across his body. “That was amazing,” he gasped, his pulse thudding in the base of his throat. His nerves were fried, his limbs shaky, and he felt achingly tender between his legs, but it felt so good.

“Told you you’d say that,” MJ mumbled sleepily against his collar bone. “You need to go pee.”

“I don’t want to move,” he whined, wrapping his arms around her.

“You don’t want a UTI, either. Go pee.”

Grumbling, he rolled her off him and headed to the bathroom, his thigh muscles trembling as he lowered himself down on to the toilet. He was simultaneously worn out and full of energy, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to nap, or hop on MJ and start all over again.

When he got back to the bedroom, he found that MJ had taken the decision out of his hands. She was fast asleep and snoring, sprawled out across the bed, something she’d always complained about him doing after sex, and he had to admit it was kind of annoying, but the fact that she’d done the same made him feel at least a little validated about his insistence that he couldn’t help it.

Leaving her to sleep, he pulled on his discarded shorts and re-buttoned his shirt, throwing a bulky plush robe over the top, and walked through to the kitchen. They hadn’t had breakfast yet and Peter was hungry, which meant MJ would be starving, so he raided the refrigerator and threw together a frittata, before carving thick slices from a brioche loaf.

Apparently summoned by the smell of food, MJ walked up behind him just as he finished serving up, sliding her hands around his waist and kissing his shoulder. “You cooked breakfast? Just another reason to love you.”

He handed her the plate that contained three-quarters of the frittata and four slices of bread slathered in butter, then took his own plate to sit at the tiny breakfast bar that divided their kitchen from the living room. “Did you enjoy your little nap?” he asked innocently, as MJ started shoveling down food as though she hadn’t eaten anything in days.

She had the grace to look at least a little sheepish. “Yeah. You weren’t lying when you said you don’t have a choice about falling asleep after we fuck.” She shoved a wedge of frittata into a slice of bread and took a huge bite.

His breakfast finished, Peter pushed his plate aside. “So, I’m usually good to go again after thirty minutes.”

MJ choked on her mouthful of food, coughing harshly. “Excuse me?” she wheezed, taking a drink of her coffee.

“I mean, I’m ready right now, but take your time.” He slid down from the stool and took his plate to the sink, before hopping up to sit on the countertop. “I’ll wait right here for you.”

MJ was in front of him in seconds, undoing the tie on his robe and standing between his legs, lowering her boxers just enough to expose her dick. He began to stroke it gently, coaxing it back to life with a delicate touch. “Who knew you’d be such an insatiable little hussy, Mr Parker,” she said, as his shorts hit the floor for the second time that day.

He handed her the condom he’d tucked away in his robe pocket. “Only for you, Ms. Jones. Now stop talking and fuck me.”

As they’d discovered during their previous forays into kitchen sex, Peter was just a little too short for countertop sex, but they’d found a way around it, and it seemed MJ remembered. She positioned herself, the head of her dick just breaching him, then grabbed his thighs and slid him down off the countertop as she thrust up, Peter grasping the edge of the worksurface to help support his weight. He was still slick from earlier and MJ slid right in, the change of angle making him see stars as he wrapped his legs around her hips.

She braced him with an arm around his waist, falling into a rhythm where she bucked her hips up to meet him as he lowered himself, making him grunt with each thrust. His arms were shaking from the strain but he could feel his orgasm approaching and he surrendered to it, coming so intensely that he threw his head back, banging it into the cupboard door with a thud.

The final throes of his orgasm brought MJ to hers and she collapsed against him, resting her head against his chest as she pulled out, her dick softening against his inner thigh before disposed of the condom. It felt amazing to have her be so close to him in every possible way again; it was what he’d missed most in the last two months.

Once she’d pulled her boxers back up and helped Peter back into his pants, he looped his limp noodle arms around her neck and his legs around her waist as she carried him to the living room, the two of them collapsing on the couch together in a pile of satiated limbs.

He was just drifting off into a doze when MJ nudged him.

“Peter?”

He opened one eye to squint at her. “Don’t. Say. It.”

“Go pee.”

He huffed and flung himself off the couch. “Fine. But if you’re asleep when I get back, I’m going to smother you.”

Who said romance was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how much I wanted to call this chapter 'Boooooone?!'
> 
> I'm super nervous about posting this one. 
> 
> *posts and hides*


	7. Faint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's day doesn't go as expected, and May comes to his aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for content warning.

Peter hadn’t expected to start his day by passing flat out in the living room.

He lay on the rug staring up at the ceiling, the side of his head throbbing and his vision full of black spots, trying to work out how he’d gone from getting up from the couch to sprawling on the floor, with zero memory of it happening.

MJ had already headed into work at an obscenely early hour as she was planning to make calls to Stark Outreach donors based in Europe, so he was on his own in the apartment, a rare morning where they didn’t commute together.

With a moan, he rolled to his knees and pulled himself up, holding onto the couch for support. The pain in his head combined with the change of position made his legs wobble again, and he collapsed onto the couch, nausea rising in the back of his throat. He grabbed the decorative bowl from the coffee table and retched, but nothing came up and the nausea didn’t abate. He felt unreasonably terrified – during his time as Spider-Man he’d been shot, stabbed, hit by various vehicles, fallen twenty stories onto the sidewalk, been poisoned and bludgeoned, yet none of that had left him feeling as helpless as he did right then.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up his phone and called May, hoping that she hadn’t headed into work yet, nearly crying with relief when she answered after a couple of rings.

“Morning, baby. Everything OK?”

Just hearing her voice soothed him, settled the panic fluttering in his chest. “Could you come over? I passed out, and I feel like I’m going to puke. Sorry, I know you’re getting ready for work, I just –“ he tailed off, dismayed to find tears welling up. “I feel really weird. Please come over, Aunt May,” he choked out.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, sweetie. Do me a favor and lay down, OK? Prop your feet up for me. Happy and I are leaving now.” He could hear her clattering around, grabbing her keys. “Love you. Just stay put, I don’t want you passing out again.”

“Love you,” he said, before hanging up and doing as she said, swinging his legs up onto the couch and elevating his feet on the arm. He felt clammy, and his nausea had left a sour taste in his mouth. The spots in his vision were slowly dissipating, but his head hurt, and he was beginning to suspect he’d banged it on his way down to the floor.

The nausea surged again and this time he did vomit, puking so hard it made his nose run and his eyes water, and it did nothing to relieve his queasiness, just left him weak and shaking, hunched miserably over the bowl.

That was how May found him when she burst into the room with Happy on her heels. “Oh sweetheart, look at you.” She took the bowl from him and handed it to Happy, who looked like she’d given him a bomb on a five second timer. “Babe, can you go flush that please? And bring the wastepaper basket from the bathroom on your way back.” Even though she hadn’t been a nurse since returning from the Snap, she dropped straight back into the role, taking his pulse and observing his breathing. “Your pulse is a little fast, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

Happy returned just in time for the next round of vomiting, practically shoving the wastepaper basket in Peter’s face as he saw his hand go to his mouth. “Here you go, kid. Do you want some water? I’m just gonna go get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

Peter gave him a weak thumbs up as he shuddered his way through another bout of puking. “Why do I still feel so sick?” he gasped, when it finally let up.

May ran a gentle finger over his temple, tutting at the lump she found there. “Looks like you smacked your head when you fainted.” She pulled out her phone and turned on the torch app, passing the light back and forth across his face. “Your pupil reflex is fine, so I don’t think the vomiting is because of a concussion.”

“My head hurts, but just where the bump is, I don’t have a headache.” Happy pushed a glass of water into his hand and he took a careful sip. “I think I must have a bug or something. I’ve felt a bit off the last couple days.”

“Off how?” May said, helping him swing his legs back up onto the couch, pulling the throw off the back and draping it over him. “And how many days?”

“Uh – maybe five, I guess? A week? Just been feeling a bit nauseous. And food tastes weird, like I’ve been sucking a penny or something. And I’ve been really emotional. Like, more than usual.”

May froze, looking at him with an expression of dawning realization. “When did you last get your period?”

Happy spluttered from his position in the chair across the room. “I’m going to work,” he announced. “I’ll tell Tony that you’re both taking a personal day, save you calling in sick. Feel better, kid.” With a kiss for May and a pat on the shoulder for Peter, he left swiftly.

“Well, that wasn’t at all awkward,” Peter said, as Happy closed the door behind him. “Uh – I guess – oh _shit.”_ He scrabbled for his phone, bringing up the cycle tracking app. “February 11th. Shit. No. You don’t think _–_”

May took his hand, rubbing gentle circles on the back. “That’s nearly two months since your last period, baby. I think we need to get a pregnancy test.”

A what now?

Peter stood up, May holding on to his arm when he wobbled. “There’s a couple of tests in the bathroom. MJ thought – she bought a couple last year.”

May walked with him to the bathroom and crouched to rummage through the cabinet under the washbasin, finding the tests at the back. “They’re still in date, so you’re fine to use one of these.” She unwrapped one, uncapping it and passing it to him. “Pee on the end of this for five seconds, then put the cap back on and lay it flat on the counter. I’ll be right outside the door, call me back in when you’re done.”

He looked numbly at the piece of plastic in his hand. He’d stayed with MJ when she’d test the previous summer, had felt sick with nerves and wasn’t sure whether that was because he wanted a negative result or a positive. But being the one about to do the test was a whole other ballgame, and certainly not something he’d ever expected to be doing.

He followed May’s instructions, then sat on the edge of the bathtub with her, gripping her hand as he waited for the timer on his phone to go off. The pregnancy test sat by the sink, taunting him, a white stick of plastic that could potentially change everything, depending on what it showed.

It was the longest three minutes of his life.

He jumped when the timer beeped, despite the fact that he’d been watching it count down, eyes glued to the screen. May squeezed his hand. “Go take a look.”

He did.

Wordlessly, he held it out to May, who looked at the digital readout. “Oh, Peter.”

“I’m pregnant.” He laughed in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m saying those words. May, I’m _pregnant.”_

He suddenly found that he couldn’t draw a full breath and he pressed a hand to his chest, throwing his shoulders back to try and open up his lungs, but his breathing was rapid and strained, his heart racing beneath his palm. He knew what a panic attack felt like, had experienced more than his fair share of them in his time both pre- and post-spider bite, but this one had hit him like a train – and as someone who had been hit by an actual, literal train, he felt it was a fair comparison.

“It’s OK baby. You’re OK.” May took his hand, and began counting up to five then back down, over and over, and he automatically breathed in and out in sync with her voice as she dropped back into the routine they’d had since he was ten, years of bottled up grief for parents he barely remembered finally manifesting as anxiety.

It took fifteen minutes for the panic attack to recede to the point that he felt able to move, and he shuffled with May to the bedroom, where she helped him into bed then crawled under the comforter to lay next to him, her hand still tightly holding his.

He concentrated on the feel of her soft hand, the heavy warmth of the comforter, the way it always felt different being in bed in clothes rather than pajamas. He was exhausted, the panic attack leaving him feeling wrung out and on edge.

May stroked his face like he was still her tiny, dorky nephew, crawling into her bed after nightmares of car crashes and dead parents. ”How you doing? Feeling better?”

“A little.” He closed his eyes as her hand began to caress his hair. “May, I can’t do this. I don’t know how to be pregnant or give birth.”

“Do you think anyone does? Anyone in this situation has that exact same thought, even when a pregnancy is planned.” There was a pain in her voice that made Peter open his eyes to look at her.

“You …” he trailed off, not sure how to phrase the question for fear of saying something that would hurt her.

“Me,” she confirmed softly. “Four times.” It was her turn to close her eyes, her lips pressing together as she attempted to stop herself from crying. “We tried for the longest time, but we couldn’t get past ten weeks. It just wasn’t meant to be. Then you came to live with us and you were such a blessing, baby. Being your mom has been the best thing in my life.”

He’d never asked May and Ben why they didn’t have kids. He assumed his parents had told him not to ask, even though he didn’t remember having that conversation with them, because he’d always just known that it was something he shouldn’t talk about. “I’m sorry, May,” he said. “I’m glad you’re my mom.” He never called her mom, but the names Mom and May both had three letters and the same emotional weight in his heart and his mind. She was his mother in everything but name.

“What am I going to do? Sex ed never prepared me for this side of pregnancy.”

May slipped her shoulder under his head and wrapped her arms around him. “You need to have a conversation with MJ, and decide what you’re going to do, together. Whatever you choose, you both have my full support, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice small. “Should I call MJ home from work? I feel like she needs to know right away. It’s her body, even if I’m in it.”

The decision was taken out of his hands by the sudden arrival of MJ, calling out for him from the living room with panic in her voice. “Peter! Peter, where are you?”

May kissed Peter on his forehead and slipped out of the bed. “_I’ll wait in the living room_,” she mouthed, knowing that MJ would be able to hear even a whisper between them. “_Tell her._”

He nodded, pushing himself up to rest against the pillows, the pregnancy test still clutched in his hand under the blankets, watching as May and MJ met in the doorway. MJ accepted May’s hug, confusion written plain on her face, then moved to sit on the bed next to Peter. “Happy said you were ill and I should get home. He was right, you do look pretty shitty.”

That started him crying again, big, ugly sobs that he couldn’t control, and she drew him into her arms. “Hey, it’s OK. Technically _I’m_ the one who looks shitty. What’s wrong?”

He didn’t know how to tell her, didn’t have the words, so he handed her the pregnancy test, not daring to look up at her, keeping his face turned in towards her chest as he cried. He’d always been an emotional person, saw no shame in crying, but this was ridiculous – he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

MJ went still beneath him then wordlessly pulled away, placing the test on the nightstand before turning on her heel and stalking from the room.

Peter threw the covers off and staggered after her, clinging to the wall to steady himself. “MJ. MJ, come back. _Please_, MJ.” He heard the front door slam and let himself slide down the wall to sit on the floor of the hallway, his head in his hands.

May came to him, curling herself around him and letting him sob. “She hates me, May.”

“No, baby. She just needs time to get her head in the right place. She’s just as shocked as you are.”

He wanted to believe her, he really did.

But what if he was right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Content warning: this chapter briefly mentions miscarriage. Please look after yourself if this is something you may find upsetting._
> 
> So, I completely expect this to be the point where I lose readers, which I completely understand! Even though this isn't strictly MPREG, I get that it's close enough to put people off. If you're one of those people tapping out, thank you for reading, and if you're staying, thanks for trusting me. This is the crackiest of crack, and where the story has been heading from the very beginning.
> 
> MPREG isn't something I'm particularly fond of, it's just not my cup of tea, but I've been part of fandoms for two TV shows that have canon MPREG (only one of which was done well), and I like to test my writing by exploring concepts I don't usually go for to see what I can do with them. I'm enjoying the process so far, so I hope you stick around to see where this goes!


	8. Pickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ make a decision.

MJ came home at midday, a bag from Delmar’s in her hand. She stood in the entryway and gazed at Peter with _his_ trademark puppy dog eyes, and damn, it was no wonder people did his bidding if he looked that pathetic and soulful.

“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “Peter, I’m so sorry. I should never have run out on you like that.”

He wanted to still be angry at her, wanted to make her feel just as bad as he had that morning, but he couldn’t do it, and the fact that she was apologizing showed she knew just how much of an asshole she’d been. She didn’t give apologies lightly. “If you have a #5 in that bag, apology accepted.”

“Squished flat and extra pickles. May, I got you your usual. Thank you for staying with Peter.” She sat in the armchair and hugged her legs to her chest, looking small and sad, and Jesus, how had May and Ben coped with that when he was a little kid? He wanted to feed her matzo ball soup and tuck blankets around her.

“Any time, honey.” May crossed the room to perch on the arm of MJ’s chair, and tucked her fingers under MJ’s chin, tilting her face up. “You and Peter need to talk about this and make some decisions. I’m here for both of you whatever you decide.”

MJ dropped her head to rest against May’s thigh, curling towards her. “Thank you. I’m sorry I ran out on your pregnant nephew.”

May chuckled, stroking MJ’s head. “That’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d hear. You’re forgiven. Just don’t make a habit out of running away from your problems. The two of you are stronger together.” Dropping a kiss into MJ’s hair, she stood and pulled her sandwich out of the bag MJ had dropped onto the coffee table. “Me and my sandwich are going to take a walk and let you talk things over. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Once May had gone, MJ joined Peter on the couch, sitting cross-legged to face him, subdued and contrite. “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed, not meeting his eyes. “Running out like that was a dick move.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” he said, mirroring her pose. “Talk to me, Em. I had myself convinced you hate me, and I’d like to think that’s my ever-present paranoia talking, but I need to hear you say that you don’t.”

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, her fingers pushed up into her hairline. “Of course I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. But I hate me.” Her voice cracked, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry. “I’m a horrible person.”

He moved closer, their knees touching, and tugged her hands away from her face, lacing their fingers together. “Don’t say that. You’re amazing.”

“I _did_ hate you,” she admitted quietly. “For a split second, I hated you so much and I couldn’t look at you, so I had to leave before I said something I couldn’t ever take back, because it wasn’t your fault.” She was bawling now, scrubbing away her tears with the cuff of her sweater pulled down over her hand.

“Oh,” he said, not quite sure how to reply. Her answer hurt, the thought that she could hate him for even a moment like a punch to the gut, but he knew that she was never anything but honest, and _did_ was better than _do._

“I’m_ jealous_, Peter.” The confession burst out of her like she’d lanced a wound, a sudden eruption of pain and grief. “The one thing I can do that you can’t is carry a baby, but hey, guess what, you’re doing that too. I feel like this curse has taken away everything I’ve planned for and this is just another thing that I don’t get to do now and it fucking _sucks_.”

He’d been so caught up in his own overwhelming shock that he hadn’t even thought about what it would be like for MJ. “I wish I could find a way to swap back right now, Em. I’m so sorry.”

“I literally said this isn’t your fault, so stop apologizing. I just have to get over myself. I’m sad and I’m angry but not with you. Neither of us had any choice in this.” She gripped his hands like they were a lifeline. “What are we going to do?”

Million-dollar question right there, but he didn’t have an answer, just more questions. “I guess we’ve got three choices. I have an abortion, we give it up for adoption, or we keep it.” He was pretty sure the first wasn’t an option, at least not for him – he was all for safe and accessible abortion and the right to choose, had literally marched with MJ in support of that right, but now he was faced with it as a choice for himself, and it wasn’t something he thought he could do.

“I don’t think I can have an abortion,” he admitted quietly. “I mean, technically it’s your body, you should be the one to make that choice and I feel like I’m taking that away from you, but – “

She cut him off with a kiss, before leaning forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder, Peter copying her, their bodies forming a triangle. “I don’t want you to have an abortion either. I thought about it earlier and it doesn’t feel right for us.”

Relief washed over him as MJ uncrossed her legs and snuggled in against him, her upper body in his lap and her head against his chest, an arm wrapped around his waist. “What about adoption?” He knew what he wanted, had known from the moment he’d seen the positive result, but he hadn’t been able to even think about it until abortion was out of the picture.

“I don’t think that’s an option for me.”

“You mean – you want us to have a baby? _This _baby?” They’d had that conversation way back when, idle conversations about their far off future hypothetical children, teenaged dreams of what their life together could hold, so he knew that theoretically, yes, they wanted kids when the time was right. But wanting and the reality of actually _having_ were two very different things.

She laughed wetly and rubbed at her eyes. “God, do you know how disappointed I was that I wasn’t pregnant last year? I love you. All I want to do is spend the rest of my life with you and have your babies and I don’t care that we’re probably too young and that I won’t be able to be a lawyer – ”

“Why would it stop you from being a lawyer?” He thumbed a tear from her cheek, his hand lingering on her face.

“There’s no way we can cope with a baby and the two of us studying for doctorates. Just one of those things on its own is hard enough.”

“Why do you have to drop your post-grad?” Peter asked, confused. “MJ, I don’t need a doctorate, not right now, anyway. If you want to you can go to Columbia next year like we planned, and I’ll work for Tony and abuse the Stark employee free childcare program.”

She looked at him like he’d hung the moon. “You’d do that?”

He didn’t understand why she was so surprised – it made complete sense to him. “Why should you sacrifice your career plans? You need your JD to do what you want to do. I love working for Tony, the doctorate is just a vanity thing. Literally nothing will change for me, other than you being a kick-ass human rights lawyer. We’ll be like Amal Clooney and her husband, though he’s obviously much better looking than I am.”

She tipped her head back and kissed him, fierce and tender all at once. “My feminist boyfriend. I knew there was a reason I picked you.”

“Fiancé,” he corrected, smiling against her mouth. “I’m your feminist fiancé.” As lovely as all this was, they still hadn’t really addressed the microscopic elephant in the room – or womb, he supposed. “So, are we doing this?” he gestured at his stomach, still flat and showing no signs of the future human being apparently growing inside him. ”Because as much as the idea of being pregnant absolutely terrifies me, and the timing literally couldn’t be worse, I want to have this baby.”

She reached out to place a hand flat against his belly, her fingers gentle and warm as they slipped under his sweatshirt. “We’re doing this,” she agreed. “Let’s have a baby.”

He’d lost count of how many times he’d cried that day, but at least this time, it was happy crying. “We’re having a baby.” He grinned at her through his tears. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

She pounced on him, pushing him back against the couch cushions and wrapping him up in an embrace, the two of them giddy and giggling, in tears and on top of the world.

Once the initial rush of joy receded, they lay quietly in one another’s arms, letting it sink in. “When do you think it happened?” he asked her, as she trailed her fingers up and down his spine. “We were always so careful.”

“I have no idea. Someone has to make up the statistics, and I guess we’re part of the 2% now.” She paused her stroking. “How are you dealing so well with this? You’re a guy. You’ve never had to think about getting pregnant, or carrying a baby. If anyone was going to freak out, I would have thought it’d be you.”

“Does a fifteen-minute panic attack count as freaking out? I had a meltdown on May, and spent most of the morning puking, crying or both. This is me post-freak out.” He sat up and grabbed his sandwich, suddenly ravenous. “You want half?”

“With your nasty extra pickles?” MJ made a face. “No thanks. I ate on the way back, it’s all yours.”

He took a bite, chewing happily, before spitting the mouthful out into a napkin. “What the fuck is this?” He scraped desperately at his tongue with another napkin, trying to rid his mouth of the sour, slimy tang. “Oh my God, are you trying to poison me?”

She took the sandwich from him, pulling it apart to show him the contents – ham, pork, cheese, pickles with extra pickles and mustard. “It’s your usual.”

“Well it tastes like actual ass,” he grumbled, tossing the sandwich back onto the table. “Wait – you don’t like pickles.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You know this. This isn’t brand new information. Pickles are warty green demon penises that have been fermented in vinegary piss.”

He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “This is your fault. All I want is my favorite sandwich but your tongue hates pickles.” And wow, he was crying again – over a stupid sandwich, of all things. “I’m going to go and make a grilled cheese,” he sobbed, pulling away from MJ as she tried to comfort him.

And of course, that was when May walked through the door.

“Peter?” She set her bag down and pulled him into a hug. “Baby, you’ve got to calm down. MJ, what’s going on?”

MJ was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, the sandwich still clasped in her hand and the filling drooping towards the floor. “Uh – he doesn’t like pickles.”

May blinked, lost for words. “Peter, you love pickles. You literally had a catering size jar of them for your birthday one year. Ben made you a pickle cake and you were the only one that would eat it.”

“MJ doesn’t like pickles so now I don’t,” he said, taking a deep breath and trying to get himself back in control. “I’m so hungry and now my favorite sandwich is ruined.” He knew he was acting completely irrationally, but not being able to eat the thing he’d eaten at least twice a month for most of his life felt like the end of the world.

“Jesus, Peter.” May dried his tears, made him blow his nose like he was five years old, then sat him at the breakfast bar. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” And see, that was why May was the best.

MJ sat next to him, the offending sandwich still in her hand. “I could take the pickle out for you?” she offered hesitantly, clearly desperate to try and make him feel better.

He sniffed, rubbing at his nose. “No, it’s tainted,” he said woefully, and he knew he was over-reacting, but he didn’t care.

She looked down at the sandwich, shrugged, and took a bite. “This is actually pretty good,” she mumbled, her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. “I can’t believe I’m eating pickles and I like it.”

He stared at her as she demolished the sandwich in five huge mouthfuls. “You’re kidding me, right? I just had a breakdown over pickles and you’re sitting there eating my sandwich right in front of me? I thought you said you loved me.”

“I think I love pickles more,” she said, snagging the other half. “This tastes amazing.”

May slid a grilled cheese in front of Peter, only slightly burned around the edges, and crossed her arms, resting them on the countertop. “I hate to break up the pickle debate kids, but I’m kinda hoping the two of you have talked?”

Peter and MJ shared a look before he smiled at his aunt, the earlier overwhelming joy bubbling up again. “We did. Do you want to be a Grandma or a Nonna?”

May squealed, then burst into tears, rounding the breakfast bar to pull both of them into a hug. “The two of you are going to be the best parents!” She dashed kisses all over their faces, moving back and forth between them. “And I want to be a Nonnina. I’m going to spoil this little pickle so much.”

Peter grinned.

“No, Peter,” MJ said. “We’re not referring to our unborn child as ‘pickle’.”

He just grinned even wider in response. “It’s gonna happen, MJ, so you’d best just get used to it.” He tapped on his stomach. “Hey pickle, this is your dad. I sound like your mom right now, but that’ll all change in a few months.”

She scoffed at him, but he could see her little smile at being referred to as ‘mom’. “I guess we need to work out your due date. I have literally no idea what we need to do next.”

“November 18th,” May said. “I worked it out on my walk. MJ, if you have an ob-gyn already you can schedule an appointment with them, or you can find a midwife. Peter’s eight weeks pregnant, so you’ll need to find someone soon. I can walk you through all the options.”

Talk of due dates, ob-gyns and midwives suddenly made it feel all incredibly real. “November 18th. MJ, that’s two weeks after we swap back.” The panicky feeling returned, making him break out in a cold sweat. How would MJ cope with suddenly being heavily pregnant and days away from giving birth? How would he feel, pulled back into his own body after months of pregnancy? “What if us switching hurts the baby or something?”

He saw his fear reflected on her face, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “I think we need to ask Doctor Strange to pay us a visit.”


	9. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ seek reassurance from Doctor Strange, Peter vomits a lot, and Tony is a little bit emotional.

Doctor Strange arrived by Uber, wearing slacks and a v-neck sweater over a plaid shirt, looking more like a geography teacher than a Master of the Mystic Arts.

Peter was waiting when the car pulled up. “You Ubered all the way from the Village in rush hour traffic?” he asked, as he led Strange upstairs. “Are your portals broken?” If he could portal, he would do it at absolutely every opportunity – from his bed to the bathroom, from home to work – it was the coolest thing ever.

“I’ve had a long week,” Strange said, politely taking his shoes off in the entryway before padding behind Peter to the living room. “I’m trying to conserve my energy where possible. I’ll portal back when we’ve finished.”

It was only Tuesday, but Peter sympathized– it felt like the fourth Tuesday that week. “Thanks for coming to see us so quickly. If we’d realized you’d had a tough week, we’d’ve come to you.”

“I assume this is about your pregnancy?” Strange said, taking a seat and immediately projecting an aura of clinical confidence that screamed _DoctorDoctorDoctor._

“Um – how’d you know?” Peter took his own seat next to MJ. “I mean, it’s not showing or anything yet.”

“Not physically. On the astral level, it’s a different matter.” Strange made a few quick gestures, and a soft pulsing glimmer glowed around Peter and MJ, a weaker radiance emanating from Peter’s abdomen. “The light represents your energy signatures, and that of the embryo. I knew as soon as I saw you.” His hands began to shake, and he broke the spell. “Presumably you have questions about the possibility of the curse affecting your pregnancy?”

“The baby is due two weeks after we switch back,” MJ said. “We’re concerned that might be a problem.” She was looking at Peter’s stomach with wide- eyed wonder, as though she could still see the glow that had represented their baby for a fleeting moment.

Strange was clenching and unclenching his hands, slowly and rhythmically, wincing a little each time his fingers straightened out. “The switch is purely spiritual and should have no effect on the child or your bodies. The moment of return will be like blinking – you’ll close your eyes in one body, and open them in another, with no awareness of the transfer taking place.”

The anxiety Peter had been carrying all afternoon immediately dissipated. In the five hours since he’d messaged Strange, he’d convinced himself that it would all go horribly wrong and his world would come crashing down around him. Less than half a day had passed since finding out he was pregnant, but the tiny speck of future life growing inside him was suddenly the center of his universe, and he knew MJ felt the same. The two of them were already a family, but their two becoming three felt so _right._ “We didn’t exactly plan for this, but we’re happy now we’re over the shock.”

“Unplanned doesn’t mean unwanted, Peter,” Strange said, a surprisingly fond smile playing about his lips. “You have the opportunity to experience something unique, for your relationship to grow even closer. This will leave the two of you with a profound and meaningful insight into what life is like for the other, so savor these last few months.”

Strange was right. As weird and unpredictable as the last few months had been, Peter felt closer than ever to MJ, had learned things about her that he could never have without living her life. He’d experienced the all-consuming dread of waiting at home for her when she was out patrolling; knew how intensely she craved spicy or salty food when she had her period, and that when stressed, her body carried that anxiety between her shoulder blades, an aching knot of tension that could only be relieved by repeated kneading from a knuckle and a hot bath. 

On a larger scale, he now knew what it was like to navigate the world as a woman, to feel the weight of men’s eyes upon his body and be the target of casual, thoughtless sexism, witness the automatic deference to MJ in her façade of maleness. He’d always been acutely aware of these things, but theoretical knowledge was so very different to actually experiencing it.

“We will,” MJ said, reaching for Peter’s hand. “How are the Vasilious? Did you find out how they got ahold of the curse?”

“I did. Mrs Vasiliou finally admitted that she used a family heirloom – a xiphos – that had been passed down from daughter to daughter along with an oral history that it would ease marital strife. She had no idea what the sword would do, as it had never been used by any of her ancestors. The artifact can only be used once, so unless there is another cursed xiphos in existence, it’s very likely that Peitho’s Curse will end with the two of you.” Strange grinned wryly. “Mr and Mrs Vasiliou have decided to end their relationship, so I very much doubt that the curse would have helped them. The two of them are ill-suited, and Mr Vasiliou is a rather unpleasant individual.”

Peter had sensed that Vasiliou was an absolute douche canoe after spending just fifteen seconds in his immediate vicinity, so it came as no surprise that his wife was kicking him to the curb. “She’s better off without him, the dude is an asswipe.”

“Indeed.” Strange stood, shaking first Peter’s hand and then MJ’s before retrieving his shoes. “I’ll leave you to the rest of your evening. And congratulations, by the way. You’ll be excellent parents.”

They watched him portal away, the orange sparks leaving a dull after-image in Peter’s vision. Any encounter with Strange was a little overwhelming – he was a little too serious and Peter always felt incredibly immature around the man, even though he was actually nice beneath the tightly controlled persona.

MJ relaxed into his side, her head resting against his chest. “We’re going to be parents,” she said, awe in her voice, before suddenly tensing. “Fuck.”

“Em?” he questioned, wrapping his arm around her and stroking her shoulder. “You OK?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I just realized we’ve got to tell my mom and dad we’re having a baby and I’m really not looking forward to that conversation.”

Ah.

Peter wasn’t looking forward to that conversation either. MJ had a complicated relationship with her mom, who was antagonistic and disapproving of almost everything she did, seemingly unable to show pride in her daughter’s many achievements. She’d moved to California when MJ started college, saying it was time for her to live her life again now that MJ was old enough to look after herself, and they’d seen each other just a handful of times since, keeping in touch through sporadic phone calls and emails. She hadn’t even attended MJ’s college graduation, claiming she couldn’t take the time off work, and even though MJ had shrugged it off, he knew how much it had hurt her.

MJ’s dad wasn’t really a part of her life, having left her mom before MJ was even born and moving to Australia by the time she turned four, eventually marrying and having three kids that MJ had never met and barely knew the names of. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, her main contact from him via Christmas and birthday cards, all sent from a website, printed and impersonal, with an accompanying cash transfer to her bank account.

“We don’t have to tell them yet,” he said, as she reached up to hold the comforting hand he had on her shoulder. “May said people usually wait until after twelve weeks to announce their pregnancy. We can just keep it to ourselves for a month.” The idea of keeping it quiet for a while appealed to him – they could stay in their own little bubble of happiness for a few more weeks.

MJ sighed heavily and pushed herself up off the couch, picking up her phone. “I’d rather just get it over with, to be honest. I’m going to go call Mom now. My dad can wait, it’s not like he’ll give a shit anyway.”

He watched her walk into the bedroom, hurting for her. He didn’t know what was worse – your parents dying, but knowing they loved you, or your parents being alive, but barely acknowledging your existence. He didn’t really remember his parents, but the few memories he had of them were warm and comforting, and May and Ben had made a point of telling him how very much Mary and Richard Parker had adored him; he’d grown up secure in the fact that his mom and dad had loved him deeply.

MJ had never had that emotional grounding in her life, practically raising herself with her mom working long hours to keep a roof over their head, emotionally distant and brittle when she was at home. Peter had tried to give Monica the benefit of the doubt – she’d been a single mom raising a child with no support – but he’d met her a total of three times, and it was very clear that she disliked him intensely for no real reason. MJ had told him her mom hated everybody and it wasn’t personal, but it certainly felt like it was.

The fact that technically he’d gotten her daughter pregnant certainly wasn’t going to endear him to her, but he was hopeful that it might help mend her relationship with MJ. The baby was going to be her grandchild – surely that meant something?

Apparently not, because MJ returned within minutes, her posture tight and angry, her expression stony, and Peter was glad that Tony had installed automatic voice modulation software on their phones, because if he’d had to make the phone call to Monica, he probably would have lost it with her.

He let her slam around in the kitchen for a few minutes, boiling pasta and heating sauce, her frustration evident in the way she clattered the pans around. He saw the exact moment her anger turned to sadness, her shoulders drooping as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, and that was when he went to her, winding his arms around her waist and hooking his chin over her shoulder, pressing himself as closely as he could to her back. “Hey.”

She softened in his arms, the tension leaving her body as she wrapped her arms over his. “Hey,” she said, as he kissed her cheek.

“That went about as well as you thought it would, then?”

She snorted, moving one hand away from his arms to stir the sauce bubbling on the burner. “She spent five minutes telling me how disappointed she was, and then asked me how I could do this to her, after all she sacrificed to make sure I didn’t end up like she did, stuck with a baby and no prospects.”

He stepped back as MJ drained the pasta, grabbing a couple of bowls and forks. “Your mom does know I’m not going anywhere, right?” He ladled sauce on top of the pasta she had dished out and carried the bowls to the breakfast bar.

“I told her that and she said that’s what she thought about my dad. She made it pretty clear that she thinks I’m an idiot for having a baby with you.” MJ propped her chin on her fist and unenthusiastically pushed her food around the bowl, not even pretending to eat.

Peter picked half-heartedly at his own pasta, knowing he should eat but finding that his appetite was non-existent, the ever-present background nausea suddenly increasing. After a few token mouthfuls, he shoved his bowl away, the pasta sitting like a brick in his stomach. “Well, you’re not.” He swallowed thickly, feeling the acid burn of vomit creeping up his throat, and a cold sweat breaking out on his face.

MJ noticed his discomfort, frowning in concern. “Peter?”

He waved her off, before bolting from his stool and puking into the thankfully empty sink, heaving as MJ rubbed his back and gathered his hair in a loose ponytail. Every time he thought he’d finished, another wave started, until he was left weak and shaking, MJ practically holding him upright.

“Whoever called it morning sickness was a fucking liar,” he croaked when the vomiting finally let up and MJ led him to the couch. His throat felt raw and his abdominal muscles strained, queasiness pulsing in his stomach.

“What does it feel like?” she asked, with an almost wistful tone to her voice, and Peter felt a moment of guilt for unintentionally robbing her of the experience, however unpleasant this part of it was.

“You know how hungover you were the whole day after graduation? Like that, but ten times worse.” The nausea peaked again and he breathed through it, sure that his stomach had to be completely empty of anything he could throw up. “I know it’s still early, but I’m gonna head to bed and see if I can sleep.”

She followed him to the bathroom, arms stretched out either side of him like she expected him to fall at any moment, standing right behind him as he cleaned his teeth, and turning her back as he used the toilet, determined not to leave his side for even a moment.

Once in the bedroom, she turned back the covers as he slipped into bed, then tucked them around his shoulders. “I’ll go clear up the kitchen and I’ll be in soon, OK? Just shout for me if you need anything.” She dropped a soft, affectionate kiss on his mouth, then turned out the lights, leaving him alone in the dark with just his thoughts and his nausea for company.

***

Peter was feeling great. MJ, who had spent the previous evening researching ways to deal with morning sickness, had gently woken him an hour before their usual alarm, and made him eat a couple of ginger cookies and drink a cup of chamomile tea before he even set foot out of bed.

He’d made it to lunch without any vomiting or dizzy spells, just a little queasiness that was quelled by frequents sips of water, and he’d finally refined the formula for a new web solution that he’d been messing about with for weeks.

“Time for lunch, kid.” Tony, once the master of self-neglect, had achieved peak-Dad level after years of parenting, and now made sure that Peter stopped and had regular breaks, rather than working ten hours straight in burst of creativity. “I ordered in from that hummus place you like.” He placed a container of hummus with a side of pita bread, raw carrot and cucumber sticks in front of Peter, proving his ultimate-Dad status by flipping the lid off the hummus.

Peter caught a whiff of garlic and tahini and felt the color drain from his face as the nausea went from a low-grade one to an instant ten. He clapped his hand over his mouth and stood, looking desperately around the lab for somewhere to puke, knowing he wouldn’t make it to the restroom in time, but then it was too late.

Shit.

Tony looked at the puddle of vomit on the floor and then squinted suspiciously at Peter, who returned his look with wide eyes and an apology ready on his lips. “I’ve seen Pepper turn that particular shade of green before, Underoos. You’re pregnant.”

_Shit._

Peter didn’t have the emotional energy to lie to Tony, so he just nodded silently as Dum-E trundled up to his feet with a bucket of vomit absorber and tipped it over the mess on the floor.

Tony dropped heavily on to a stool, clapping his hands to his face. “You mean I’m right? You’re pregnant?”

“Mm-hm,” Peter gritted out between his clenched teeth, the smell of the hummus lingering and making him want to vomit again. “Could you – oh God, I’m gonna puke.”

Tony scooped up the now empty bucket with one hand, shoving it into Peter’s arms just in time to catch another flood of vomit, and slapped the lid back on the hummus with the other. “Easy there, kiddo,” he soothed. Morgan was a spectacularly dramatic frequent puker, and Tony’s decade-long experience of vomit wrangling showed in his surprisingly gentle and unflustered manner.

Peter gasped for breath, his head shoved almost entirely in the bucket, waiting for his retching to stop. “Sorry,” he rasped. “It just came out of nowhere.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. This lab floor has seen far worse than puke, I promise. You done?” At Peter’s nod, Tony sent Dum-E off to clean out the bucket. “So, I’m guessing you found out yesterday?”

“Yeah. I passed out then spent all morning puking, and May made me take a test. We think I’m about eight weeks pregnant.” He still found it weird saying that sentence in relation to himself – it wasn’t something he’d ever expected to experience as anything other than a supportive partner to MJ.

A slow smile spread across Tony’s face. “You’re gonna be a dad.” He grinned even wider. “My kid is having a baby.”

Peter matched his smile, the words _my kid_ still giving him a thrill of happiness even after years of hearing them. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Crazy, huh? Never thought I’d be saying the words ‘I’m pregnant’, but here I am.”

Tony pulled him into a tight hug. “Shit, Pete, you’re going to be a _dad_. I get to spoil your baby and you can’t stop me.” His voice got wobbly and Peter felt moisture on the side of his face.

“Are you crying?” he asked, leaning slightly back in the circle of Tony’s arms to look at his face.

“Yes, I’m crying, Parker. There’s going to be a mini-you running around causing chaos. I get to watch you tear your hair out over your own small person trying their best to kill themselves in a variety of creative ways. Of course I’m crying. This is payback for every gray hair you’ve given me.” Tony dashed at the tears on his face, and then kissed Peter on the cheek. “You know I’m going to need to see your kid a minimum of twice a week, right? Babies love me, I’m like a baby whisperer.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll just let me work here like you keep asking, and the baby can go to daycare downstairs. You can sneak in there and have Grandpa time every day if you want.” Tony’s face crumpled, and Peter looked at him with concern. “Tony?”

Tony sniffed, and patted Peter’s cheek fondly, his hand lingering to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Ignore me, I’m being a sappy old man. Really, kid? Grandpa?”

“I mean, if you want – I know I shouldn’t assume, but you’re like my – well, you know how important you are to me and May, you and Pepper and Morgan are our family and this baby is going to end up loving you more than they love me, so yeah, Grandpa. If you want. Like, I totally understand if it’s too weird or whatever. But. Yeah.” He trailed off as Tony embraced him again. “So that’s a yes? I swear this was harder than asking MJ to marry me.”

“Yes it’s a yes.” Tony, as gentle and tender as Peter had ever seen him, guided Peter back into his chair, passing him the water bottle he’d been drinking from all morning. “How’s MJ dealing with the idea of having a kid?”

“MJ was kind of hoping we’d keep it quiet a little longer, but I guess I can’t have everything.”

Peter turned his chair to find MJ standing in the doorway of the lab, Pepper – in tears and smiling – right behind her. “MJ!” he squeaked. “I didn’t tell him, he guessed when I threw up because of the hummus.”

MJ moved to stand behind him, draping her arms around his shoulders and resting her chin on the crown of his head. “Well, I told Pepper because she found me crying into my lunch, so we’re even. But that’s it for people knowing now. Just us four, and May and Happy until we’re at thirteen weeks.”

“And Strange,” Peter reminded her, causing Tony to groan dramatically and throw his hands in the air.

“You told _Strange_?! How about Rhodey, he’s going to be a great-Uncle. I know he’s busy with his little job these days, but this is far more important.”

“We told Strange because we’re gonna swap back before the baby arrives and we were worried it might cause problems, and Rhodey is literally _Vice-President_. I promise you can tell him in a few weeks.” Peter laughed as Tony muttered under his breath. “Pepper, please make your husband behave like a grown up.”

Pepper rolled her eyes as she sat on the edge of the lab bench, kicking her heels off and wiggling her stocking-covered toes in obvious relief. “I haven’t been able to make him do that even once in over twenty years of knowing him, Peter, but it’s sweet that you think I can work miracles.” She nudged Tony with her foot, holding her hand out to him, and he took it, hopping up to sit next to her. “I’m so happy for you both. I hope you know that Tony and I will help out with anything you need.”

“Thanks, Pepper.” Peter snagged MJ’s hand and pulled her down to sit across his lap, needing her close. It no longer felt strange to hold his own body, because the fact it contained MJ was what counted the most. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared shitless. I have no idea what happens next. We haven’t even found a doctor yet.”

MJ shifted in his lap, looking a little guilty. “Actually, we have an appointment tomorrow evening, Pepper gave me the details of her obstetrician. She sounds great, she runs a birthing center, advocates for a minimal intervention labor and delivery, everything I want for when I give birth. Sorry I didn’t check with you first, I just wanted to get us scheduled with someone.”

Peter didn’t care that she hadn’t asked him – he was just relieved that the decision had been taken out of his hands, because as much as he was going to be carrying the baby for the bulk of the pregnancy, MJ was the one who was going to have to go through labor, and it had to work for her. “That’s fine. I want you to be happy with whoever we choose.”

“You’ll love Connie,” Pepper said. “She’s amazing. She’s also really discreet, and deals with high-profile patients all the time, so if you want to confide in her about your – situation - it won’t go any further.”

“And we’re footing the bill,” Tony added, holding up his hand when he saw that both Peter and MJ were about to argue with him. “No. We’re paying. Please let us do this for you. I don’t want either of you worrying about money, just concentrate on this baby of yours.”

Peter knew he wasn’t going to win the argument – it was just easier to give in, because when Tony set his mind to something, nothing would stop him, and any attempt would just make him dig his heels in even further. And he had to admit, the idea of not worrying about how much the whole thing would cost really appealed to him. “Thank you. We appreciate it.” MJ echoed his thanks, and he gave her a squeeze, knowing how hard it was for her to swallow her pride and accept help.

“I already emailed Connie’s office with the billing information,” Pepper said, as she picked up a pot of hummus and peeled off the lid. She only realized her error when she registered the sound of vomit splattering across the floor.

Hummus two, Peter’s gag reflex zero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a beta - the wonderful [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme). You should check out her writing, particularly [Hamster wheel with no brakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179543), which is my favourite take on Mr Harrington.
> 
> Thanks, Iarrannme!


	10. Doctor Wu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ meet their obstetrician, and Peter is awful at keeping secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains descriptions of medical examinations typically carried out in the first trimester of pregnancy.

The obstetrician’s office was on Park Avenue, and Peter, wearing jeans and a pullover, felt underdressed. The room was decorated in soothing shades of cream and brown, the furnishings tasteful and obviously expensive, and he knew that this was something he and MJ couldn’t have afforded without Tony and Pepper. The obstetrician had scheduled their appointment outside of her normal office hours, and the place seemed deserted except for the three of them.

Doctor Connie Wu was tall and willowy, a thick braid wrapped around her head like a crown, and she immediately put Peter and MJ at ease with her soft voice and easy smile.

“Thank you for seeing us so quickly, Doctor Wu,” MJ said, as they sat in front of her desk.

She looked up from tapping at her keyboard. “You’re welcome, Peter. I always try to see new patients as soon as possible. I’m going to run through some questions with you both, and then I’ll do the necessary examinations before we discuss how to keep Michelle and baby healthy throughout the pregnancy.”

The first few questions were easy enough – birth date, any medical problems, the date of his last period – but he found himself looking to MJ to answer as they progressed, because he just didn’t know how old she was when she started menstruating, or her family’s medical history. He knew his constant deference to MJ had to look strange to the doctor; she’d raised her eyebrow a couple of times, and was clearly confused by Peter’s silence. 

Doctor Wu started asking about any genetic or chromosomal disorders in either of their families and yes, he had a genetic mutation – the spider bite had altered his DNA – but when he was fifteen, Tony had asked Helen Cho to do a full work up of his genetics. He’d been assured at the time that the mutation wasn't hereditary, so they wouldn’t be having a baby who could crawl across the ceiling. Even so, Peter had a moment of doubt and that, in combination with the desire to explain his sudden mutism, was enough for him to blurt, “She’s Spider-Man!”

Doctor Wu stopped typing. “Sorry, I’m not sure I heard that properly.”

“Peter!” MJ hissed under her breath.

He didn’t see the point in trying to take it back now, so he just committed to it. “She’s Spider-Man. Well, I’m Spider-Man, but we swapped bodies last year, so MJ stepped up.”

“You’re Peter,” Doctor Wu said to him, and he nodded as she turned towards MJ. “And you’re Michelle.”

MJ facepalmed. “Peter, it’s like you don’t know what a secret identity is. I swear you just bounce around New York saying ‘Hi, I’m Peter Parker and I’m Spider-Man.’”

“Telling Doctor Wu I’m Spider-Man is better than her thinking you’re abusing me or something, and she asked if either of us have a genetic disorder and technically, I do. I mean, my body does.”

Doctor Wu watched them bicker, her head turning back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. “You’re Peter Parker. _The _Peter Parker from a few years ago, who was framed by Mysterio. You’re telling me after all that, you actually _are_ Spider-Man? Pepper asking me to see you suddenly makes sense.” She addressed that to Peter, apparently quick to accept that the woman sitting in front of her was a man in his fiancée’s body, and a previously super-powered man at that.

“Now I know why she sent over an NDA earlier, even after I told her it wasn’t necessary,” she muttered, seemingly a little offended.

“You have a long memory,” Peter said mildly.

“My daughter is obsessed with Spider-Man, has been since before the Decimation. When she found out that he’d been Dusted and Returned, just like her, that obsession went into overdrive. You’d better believe she Googled the hell out of the name ‘Peter Parker’ after the Mysterio video. She developed quite the crush on you at the time and was a little disappointed when you held that press conference with Spider-Man to prove you weren’t him. Though apparently that wasn’t exactly accurate.”

Tony may have been able to delete almost every reference to Peter Parker from the internet, but he hadn’t been able to delete it from people’s minds. “I try to live a normal life when I’m not Spider-Man. I don’t like lying, but it’s necessary to protect the people in my life.”

“I understand. And I can assure you that this is all confidential. I’ve already signed the completely unnecessary NDA - I would never disclose patient details, and anything we discuss is covered by HIPAA.” She seemed remarkably unbothered by what she’d learned, and Peter warmed to her even more. “But just let me get this straight – Peter, you are currently in the body of Michelle, and Michelle, you are in the body of Peter?” At their nods, she continued. “Is this permanent?”

“We’ll swap back a couple of weeks before the baby arrives,” MJ said. “Peter will be carrying the baby for most of the pregnancy, but I’ll be giving birth. I know this whole thing is weird but we’re a team - I’m going to be with Peter for everything.”

Doctor Wu smiled at that. “That’s good. I would encourage any father or mother to be by their partner’s side throughout their pregnancy, but it’ll be particularly important in your case, Michelle. Suddenly being in a body at the end of a pregnancy is going to be physically and emotionally taxing. Peter will have grown used to the changes gradually, whereas you’ll experience them all at once.”

Peter couldn’t get over how unfazed the doctor was by their situation. After her initial reaction of subdued disbelief, she’d slipped right back into her professional and reassuring persona. “How are you so calm about all of this?” he asked.

Doctor Wu didn’t even have to think about her answer, so he knew it was genuine. “We live in a world that’s seen multiple alien invasions, been visited by actual gods, and survived half of all living things being turned to dust then restored. Not to minimize what you’re both going through, but a body swap seems quite mundane compared to all of that.”

Huh. He guessed when she put it like that, it really wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. “And you’re not weirded out by the fact that I’m actually a man?”

“Other than the fact that this is temporary, it’s not that different from the transmen and non-binary people I care for during their pregnancies, so no. Which reminds me – what name and pronouns do you want me to use in your patient record?”

Peter hadn’t even thought about being referred to as anything other than Michelle and she/her during the pregnancy. He guessed if the situation was permanent, he’d be more bothered, but he knew that he’d be back in his own body in seven months, so it was a non-issue. “Michelle and she/her is fine, and you can call me that in person too. MJ is the one who’ll be going through labor and delivery, and our situation is kind of need to know only, so as far as anyone else is concerned, I’m Michelle Jones, and ‘he’ is Peter Parker.”

Doctor Wu finished typing and pushed her chair back from the desk. “That’s it for the questions for now. I’ll send you through for the ultrasound, just to take a look and check that everything is developing the way we’d expect, and to make sure your delivery date is in line with your last period.”

They followed her into a darkened room next to her office and Doctor Wu left them with the technician, who asked Peter to lay flat on the exam couch and expose his abdomen, before applying a cold gel to his belly, his abdominal muscles twitching in response. She placed the wand against his stomach and began sliding it across his skin with a gentle pressure, intently studying the screen that was angled so that only she could see it. After a moment, she swiveled the screen towards them, and there it was, in shades of gray. A tiny little jelly bean, curled in on itself, limbs just beginning to form, its head the same size as its body.

Their future.

He was crying again – he’d lost track of how many tears he’d shed in the last forty-eight hours, but MJ was crying too, and he clung to her hand, eyes fixed on the image of their baby as the tech continued the scan.

“It all looks perfect,” the woman said, handing Peter a wad of tissues to clean the gel from his stomach. “The embryo is 16 mm long, has a nice strong heartbeat, and the placenta and umbilical cord look to be in good shape. Everything is consistent with an estimated due date of November 17th.”

Peter looked down at his stomach, still not quite believing it was all real, despite the evidence that had been displayed on the screen. “Could we get a print-out of the scan, please?” He needed something tangible to prove to himself that he actually was pregnant, that he wasn’t just being sick because he was ill.

“I’ve already sent a couple of copies to the printer in Doctor Wu’s office, and she’ll email you a file too,” she assured them. “Ms. Jones, why don’t you go and use the restroom before heading back to Doctor Wu, you’ll need an empty bladder for the exam.”

Peter, who had been holding in three huge glasses of water for the last hour, gratefully did as she suggested, before heading back to Doctor Wu’s office with MJ.

“If you could change into the gown I’ve left for you behind the privacy screen, we’ll get started with your physical,” Doctor Wu said as they entered the room. “I’ll step outside, just call me back in when you’re ready.”

He stepped behind the screen, eyeing the exam table and its stirrups nervously. “Uh – I have to take everything off, right? Underwear too?” After MJ told him yes, he hurriedly stripped and pulled on the gown. It was made of the softest cotton, and very different to the scratchy paper gown Peter had worn during his last physical pre-spider bite; another indication of just how expensive the place was.

“I’m ready,” he said, standing awkwardly next to the couch.

MJ called Doctor Wu back into the room and then stepped around the screen, taking a seat at the head of the bed as Doctor Wu frowned at the BP cart, clearly unfamiliar with the machine and a little flustered because of it. “Please bear with me – we recently got new machines, and a nursing assistant would usually do your measurements and basic observations. I kept staff to a minimum this evening as Pepper told me you needed a high level of privacy.” She got the machine working with a little “Hah!” of triumph, then took Peter’s BP, blood oxygen levels and pulse before weighing and measuring him, recording the results on a tablet.

“If you could drop your gown down to waist level, I’ll do a breast exam and listen to your breathing,” Doctor Wu said once she’d finished, and he undid the snaps at his shoulders, self-consciously letting the fabric slip down to bunch up at his hips.

She spoke gently and talked him through the exam, telling him how to position his arms, explaining what she was going to do before she actually did it, and how he should do his own exam every month, getting him to copy her movements. She was so matter of fact about it that Peter was put at ease, the strangeness of someone other than MJ touching his breasts fading away.

She gestured for him to pull his gown back up, and pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “We’ll do the pelvic exam now. I’ll start with the cervical exam and Pap test, and then finish with the bimanual examination.”

He positioned himself as directed on the exam couch, trying to ignore his nerves as he placed his feet in the rests and shuffled his butt right to the very edge of the table, letting his knees fall apart as Doctor Wu draped a sheet across his lower half. MJ had told him what to expect based on her own ob-gyn exams, but he hadn’t realized that he’d feel so exposed and vulnerable.

He startled as Doctor Wu raised the height of the table, his feet jerking in the stirrups, and she smiled at him. “This shouldn’t hurt, so if you feel anything other than mild discomfort, let me know and we’ll take a break. I’ll tell you everything that’s happening.”

MJ moved to stand next to him, gripping his hand. “Just breathe,” she said quietly, and they fell into a shared rhythm, matching one another breath for breath.

“I’m going to insert the speculum now. You’ll feel some pressure, but it won’t last long. When I take the Pap smear, you might feel a slight pinch, maybe some mild cramping; that’s normal and nothing to worry about.”

She was right. It didn’t hurt, not really – it just felt weird and invasive as the speculum slipped easily inside him. The brief pinch of pain when she took the Pap sample disappeared almost before he registered it, replaced by a dull cramp that felt like period pain. MJ held his hand throughout, reminding him to breathe and encouraging him to relax his shoulders, and before he knew it, Doctor Wu had moved on to the bimanual examination, asking his permission to go ahead before inserting two fingers into his vagina and pressing down on his abdomen with her other hand. It was uncomfortable and awkward but over in just a couple of minutes, and had been nowhere near as bad as he’d anticipated.

Doctor Wu scooted her stool backwards and rolled off her gloves. “Everything looks good from my initial examination. The Pap results can take up to two weeks, but they’re usually back within a week, and we’ll only contact you if it’s an abnormal result, so no news is good news. If you’d like to get dressed, I’ll draw some blood for the standard tests we run. Take a seat back at the desk when you’re done, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

“You doing OK?” MJ asked, handing Peter his discarded clothing as Doctor Wu left them to it. “This whole thing has got to be a mind fuck.”

He shrugged, settling his clothes into place and then sitting back at the desk, glad that the part he’d been dreading was over. “Doctor Wu’s right. The world has seen weirder stuff than what’s happening with the two of us. I can’t change it, so I’ve just got to get on with it.”

“I’m impressed with how you haven’t freaked out at any of this,” MJ said, opening the office door for the doctor before sitting next to Peter. “I mean, it’s a lot. Ob-gyn exams aren’t something you’ve ever had to think about.”

He extended his arm for Doctor Wu and she secured a tourniquet around his bicep, fingers a little clumsy as she tied the rubber strip and cleaned the crook of his elbow with an alcohol wipe. She was obviously not used to routinely drawing blood, her movements just a little too stilted to be practiced. “I got my freaking out about being in your body over and done with weeks ago. This is just something that has to be done.” He winced as the needle went into his vein, averting his gaze – he didn’t do well with needles, never had. “I could do without this part, though.”

Doctor Wu withdrew the needle then labeled the blood samples, placing them in a bag attached to the necessary paperwork. “I’m afraid you’ll have a couple more of these over the coming months. No more pelvic exams until around the thirty-six-week mark, though.”

He didn’t know if it was a reaction to the blood test, or the fact that he hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was now after seven, but he felt the now all-too familiar urge to vomit creep up on him and he pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to will it down, but it was no use.

Doctor Wu took one look at him and a cardboard emesis basin was whipped under his chin in a matter of seconds, just in time to catch the stream of bile that erupted with hardly any effort on his part. “Well, that answers my question about any sickness,” she said, taking the full basin away and handing Peter an empty one. “How many times a day are you vomiting? How’s the nausea?”

He wiped his mouth with a tissue, balling it up and dropping it in the basin. “I guess maybe eight? And I feel sick pretty much all the time, it never really goes away.”

“Any passing out? Dizzy spells?”

“Uh – I passed out once. And yeah, I’ve gone to stand up a few times and had a head rush.”

Doctor Wu frowned at that. “The amount of nausea and vomiting is more than I would expect. There’s a condition called hyperemesis gravidarum that can cause excessive vomiting and nausea, so keep an eye on it over the next couple of weeks, and if it continues at the current level, you may need some medication. I’ll give you some information about managing it in the meantime – I’d advise that you stick to bland food, eat small, regular meals, and take frequent sips of water to avoid dehydration.”

She pushed a plastic wallet across the desk towards them. “Everything you need to know about your future care is in there, along with the printouts from your scan. I’ll see you for a check-up in a month, but if you have any questions or concerns before then send me an email or you can call my admin staff and they’ll get a message to me. You should start thinking about the kind of delivery you want too – we have an excellent birthing center with several options for your birth plan, and we’re known for our low-intervention deliveries if that’s something you’re looking for.”

“It is,” MJ said, picking up the wallet. “I’ve only just started looking into it, but I’m leaning towards a midwife-led water birth. And can we have other people with us there during the delivery? I really want my mother-in-law there when the baby is born.”

It took Peter a beat to realize that MJ was talking about May, and then he felt a sudden, intense rush of love for her, touched by her obvious affection for the other most important woman in his life.

“You can have as many people as you like there, we don’t impose any restrictions – we want you to feel at home. Though for your own sanity, I’d keep it to four people or less,” Doctor Wu said. “From my point of view, we’re all done for today, but do either of you have any questions?”

Peter and MJ shared a look. “No, I think we’re good,” he said. “I guess we’ll see you in a month.”

Doctor Wu stood and shook their hands. “Any problems in the meantime, please get in touch. I’d rather put your minds at ease than have you worrying about something for the next four weeks.”

Once they were in the elevator, MJ opened the wallet that she’d tucked under her arm, taking out the scan print and tracing the image with her fingers. “This makes it all feel real,” she whispered, looking up at Peter. “This is going to be our baby.”

He looked down at the scan, at the little blob of cells that was already one of the most precious things in his life. They might not have planned any of this, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much, and you’re going to be an amazing mom. We’ve got this.”

She linked their fingers as the lift came to a halt. “We have. I love you too.”

For the first time in two days, Peter actually believed that they'd make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme) tells me I'm likely the first person to ever write about Peter Parker getting an ob-gyn exam. I doubt it'll become a trend.
> 
> They also helped me with the specifics of the US healthcare system, as things are done a little differently where I live. Any errors are mine. Thanks for the beta, Iarrannme! 
> 
> I tried to keep things non-graphic, but if medical descriptions aren't your thing, please take care of yourself and skip this chapter - all you need to know going forward is that the pregnancy is healthy.
> 
> And at the risk of sounding like a PSA - if you need to have a Pap smear/test, please go and get it done when it's due! I know it's not the most enjoyable thing in the world, but the benefits far outweigh any embarrassment or discomfort. <3
> 
> I've almost finished another chapter, and that will probably be the last one I post until after the holidays, as I have a couple of seasonal fics I want to work on.


	11. Profiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for content description.
> 
> Beta by the wonderful [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme).

Peter stared into the almost-empty fridge, wondering what he could make for dinner out of half an onion, a tub of strawberry yogurt and a solitary chicken breast. He swung the door shut and opened the freezer, finding a tub of _Stark Raving Hazelnuts, _a package of mystery meat and a bag of ice, and came to a soul-destroying conclusion.

“We have to go grocery shopping.”

MJ looked down at him from the ceiling, where she was bouncing from foot to foot and shaking out her hands, making him incredibly thankful that they didn’t have upstairs neighbors. “What? Noooooo. I don’t want to schlep around a grocery store, Peter.” She touched her fingers to the ceiling and swung her legs down, landing next to him. “There must be something we can eat.”

He gestured to the fridge. “Feel free to take a look.”

She did, and her shoulders slumped in a show of exaggerated defeat. “You weren’t joking.”

“I don’t joke about grocery shopping. It’s time.”

She actually _pouted_, sticking her bottom lip out. “Urgh, shopping is the worst.” She began to rock from heel to toe, over and over, swinging her arms back and forth. “We should’ve eaten with Tony and Pepper.”

He pointed at her with a sudden realization. “You’re hyperactive.”

“No I’m not. Why would you say that? I’m fine. I’m not hyperactive.”

“You haven’t been out as Spider-Man in four days. You’re either hyperactive or you’ve been drinking espresso. I’ll shop, you swing.” He prodded her in the ass with his foot, pushing her in the direction of the bedroom. “Go. And I’m sorry if I was ever this annoying when I hadn’t been out in a while.” He laughed as she practically skipped away to change into the suit.

He started scribbling a shopping list, meal planning in his head as he went along. By the time MJ returned, he’d shoved the list and a bunch of grocery bags into the backpack and had his jacket and sneakers on.

“I won’t stay out long,” she said, leaning in for a kiss before pulling the mask on. “You sure you don’t mind? I’ll bring something home for dinner so we don’t have to cook.”

“I’m sure. Go keep Queens safe.”

They parted in the hallway, MJ heading up the stairs to the roof, Peter taking the stairs down rather than risk the unreliable and juddering elevator that had made him puke earlier. When he stepped out onto the street, he looked up to see MJ perched on the edge of the roof.

She kept pace with him up on the rooftops for the ten-minute walk to the store, silhouetted against the purple and pink sunset as she jumped between buildings. They parted at the corner of Greenpoint and 48th, MJ swinging up to land on a subway car heading out towards Forest Hills, and Peter entering the grocery store parking lot.

He grabbed a cart and pushed it one-handed as he swung his backpack around to rest in the child seat, unzipping the top to search for the shopping list as he headed into the store.

Two aisles in, he had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, the back of his neck prickling almost like his Spidey-sense, and he looked over his shoulder to see a security guard lingering at the end of the shelves, staring at him. Peter gave him a small, unsure smile, and switched his concentration back to the list in his hand, mentally ticking off what he’d already picked up, but the feeling of being stared at continued as he made his way around the store. Every time he turned into a new aisle, the guard was standing at the end of it, thumbs hooked into his belt as he looked at Peter.

By the time he reached the check out, he was flustered and unnerved, acutely aware of the guard, who was now standing by the exit, still staring at him as he packed his groceries and made small talk with the woman working the register. His fingers were clumsy as he slid MJ’s loyalty and debit cards out of her wallet, and the cashier noticed his nervousness.

“You OK, sweetie?” she asked as he paid.

He nodded. “Just tired. Been a long day.”

“I hear ya. You have a good evening, hon.” She pressed the receipt into his hand and moved on to the next person waiting in line.

He finished loading the cart up with his grocery bags, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves before he walked to the exit, but as he passed the guard, he felt a tap on his shoulder and stopped, turning to face him. “Can I help you?”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need to check your purchases against your receipt.”

“Why?” He and MJ had shopped in this particular store at least once a week since moving to Sunnyside, and this was the first time he’d ever been stopped for a receipt check.

“Your backpack was open as you walked around the store. I’m gonna need to check your receipt.” The guard moved between him and the exit, widening his shoulders and stepping right into Peter’s personal space. Up close he stank of stale sweat, dark patches marking the underarms of his pale blue shirt, the smell turning Peter’s stomach. “Receipt. Now.”

Silently, Peter gave him the crumpled piece of paper that he still held in his hand, and felt his face heat up with embarrassment when the man upended the carefully packed bags back into the cart, running his finger down the receipt as he sorted through the contents. When he was satisfied that everything matched up, he gestured at Peter’s backpack. “Open that up, I need to take a look inside.”

Peter thought about telling him where to get off but decided against it, slipping the bag off his shoulders and unzipping the main compartment and front pocket, allowing the guard to rummage through the contents. Not that there was much to see – just MJ’s wallet, his phone, a half empty tube of Mentos and a couple of unused shopping bags.

The guard sniffed, dropping the receipt on top of the groceries. “You can go. Next time, maybe keep your bag closed.”

Peter gaped at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You looked suspicious with your bag open like that. You could’ve been shoplifting.”

Peter laughed without a single bit of humor. “I just spent $150 on groceries and you think I was shoplifting?” He started shoving the groceries back into their bags, feeling close to angry tears. “Oh great, you broke the eggs. Are you going to replace those?”

The guard shrugged. “Not with that attitude, I’m not. I think you’d best leave before that smart mouth of yours gets you into trouble.”

Peter grabbed the repacked bags up out of the cart, leaving the carton of broken eggs in the bottom. “Oh, believe me, I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.”

He stormed out of the store, head held high, determined to keep it together until he was out of sight, his bottom lip trembling as he fought for control over his emotions. He wasn’t just angry, he was _humiliated_, and that was somehow worse – the bag inspection had felt personal, targeted rather than routine.

The bags were heavy and he probably should’ve hailed a cab, but he just kept going, too upset to do anything but move, to get as much space between him and the store as possible. By the time he reached the apartment, the urge to cry had been replaced by indignation, and he all but threw the groceries in the cupboards, feeling the anger build up until he knew he had to do something to release it.

In his own body he would have gone mindlessly swinging with no destination in mind, just letting the webs carry him through the city, a satisfying pull in the muscles of his shoulders as he arced between buildings until he had burned off all his frustration and barely had enough energy to get home.

That wasn’t an option, so he did the next best thing – stress cleaned. Though not related to May by blood, he was absolutely her child in every other way possible – they both reacted to stress by either freaking out or scrubbing everything in sight within an inch of its life.

He was on his hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor when MJ returned, a takeout bag swinging from one hand, the mask clutched in the other. She was rosy cheeked from exertion, and her hair was a mess of sweaty, flattened curls, but she looked content, her excess energy spent.

“OK, what’s wrong?” She tugged Peter to his feet, dropping the scrubbing brush he’d been using into the bucket of soapy water. “You only clean this furiously when something has happened.”

He didn’t answer her, just stepped in close for a hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder.

“You’re scaring me, what’s going on?” She gently swayed them back and forth as he clung to her, the tension leaving his body now she was home.

He sighed against her neck. “Nothing bad. There was just this security guard at the store, he followed me around then searched my bags before he’d let me leave. He tipped everything out into the cart, broke the eggs.” Saying it out loud made him feel like he was over-reacting, because it was barely worth getting upset about, but he felt MJ tense.

“Sounds like you were shopping while black,” she said, her voice thin and tight with obvious anger as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

The minute she said it everything suddenly made sense, and then he felt like an idiot, because of course that was why, it was just one shitty incident in a whole host of racist microaggressions MJ faced daily, but it hadn’t even occurred to him until she mentioned it. The guard had clearly only seen the color of his borrowed skin, judged him in an instant and found him lacking. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

He knew how people of color were treated day in, day out, saw the way police responded differently to a black perp vs a white when he was out on patrol, tried his hardest to de-escalate situations before guns were pulled and lives were taken. On their first day at Columbia, he’d heard a guy ask MJ if she “got in through reverse discrimination.” He knew to shut up and listen rather than pretend to understand how dehumanizing and exhausting the constant drip of oppression was. And_ still_ he hadn’t got it.

“Stop that,” MJ said, leaning back to frown at him. “I can practically hear you mentally beating yourself up. You haven’t lived your entire life as biracial woman, you aren’t going to look at things the same way I do.”

“But I know the bullshit you have to deal with, Em. I should’ve –“

“Should’ve what? Nothing you did would have changed the way he acted. This is all on him, not you. Fuck him. Don’t give him any more of your energy, he’s not worth it.”

He knew she was right. But Jesus, if he was this upset after just one instance of targeted racism, how the hell did people cope with going out into a world that did similar things to them every single day of their life? He was going to be the father of a biracial child who would have to learn that some people would hate them just because of their dual heritage, and he had no idea how to prepare them for something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clinging to her again as he finally started to cry. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he had no other words, just guilt and grief and anger that people could be treated so poorly.

MJ wiped his tears away. “I know you have a guilt complex Peter, but you haven’t done anything you need to apologize for, OK?”

“OK.” He took a shuddering breath and left the comfort of her arms to sit down at the counter, completely wrung out. “Uh – we need to find somewhere else to shop, I told him I was never going back there.”

She shrugged, hitting the spider in the middle of her chest to release the suit, stripping down to her boxer shorts before sitting next to him and opening the takeout boxes. “They were getting too expensive anyway. We can try Wegmans.“ She pushed a carton of potstickers towards him, then got started on her sesame chicken. “The staff at the Chinese place I went to love Spider-Man - they have posters of you all over, and they tried to give me the food for free. I took a selfie with them, I hope that’s alright?”

She chattered on about patrol and he knew she was trying to distract him. It was working to a degree. The dumplings were amazing, as was the forkful of chicken and broccoli he stole from MJ. He could feel his mood lightening a little, the food relieving the gnawing queasiness in his stomach, and he was hopeful that it would stay put, unlike every other meal he’d eaten since Tuesday. He only ate three potstickers and a small portion of rice, unwilling to push it any further and risk throwing it all back up.

“How do you deal with it?” he asked quietly, not needing to identify what ‘it’ was, pushing the rest of his food towards MJ with a silent indication that it was all hers.

She snagged a dumpling with her chopsticks, dipping it in hoisin sauce. “I push my anger into other things, make it useful rather than self-destructive, don’t let it define me like I did when I was younger. I’m proud of who I am and where I come from. Nobody can take that away from me.”

“It’s shit,” he said vehemently. “I hate it. I hate that guard. I hate everyone who thinks it’s fine to treat people like that. I want to go back to the store and walk up to him and call him out for being a fucking racist.”

“You don’t get to do that when you’re black, because that will get you at best arrested, and at worst, shot. You have to walk away and spend your money somewhere else, you’re not going to change his mind. He’ll deny it, claim he was following company policy, say you had an attitude and disrespected his mall cop ass.” She ate the last dumpling, shoving the whole thing in her mouth and chewing with obvious satisfaction. “But there’s nothing stopping us emailing the store manager – or the company president - from my Stark Industries address and making a complaint about the security guard. Maybe post something on my Twitter, ask Tony and Pepper to retweet it.”

“I love it. Feels very mature. Let’s do it.” He unlocked his phone and opened a new text file, poised to type before changing his mind and passing it to MJ. “You’re so much better at stuff like this. You turn complaint emails in to works of art.”

She took that as the praise it was intended to be, with a little smile and a nod. “I _am_ good at emails. Hey, do you have your stealth suit here?”

“It’s at the tower for upgrades. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. But I heard Night Monkey was in town. It’d be such a shame if he scared a poor security guard just going about his business.” MJ didn’t look up from typing, but she smirked then bit her lip, and Peter suddenly wanted to jump her right there and then. He no longer saw himself when he looked at her – he only saw the woman he loved, evident in the tilt of her head, the quirk of her smile, or the way her eyes softened when she gazed at him. She was just _MJ_. The body she was in was almost irrelevant.

“You’ve never been more attractive to me than you are right now,” he said earnestly, taking the phone from her and saving the file. “I haven’t thrown up since lunch, you’re basically naked. Let’s fuck.”

MJ let out a cackle of surprised laughter as Peter dragged her off the stool and towards the bedroom. “You’re such a sweet talker, Parker. You’re not gonna puke on me, right?” She kicked off her shorts as they crossed the threshold of the bedroom, flinging them into the corner with a flick of her foot.

“Just don’t get too athletic and it’ll be fine.” He stripped and sprawled across the bed, crooking his finger at MJ. “Quick, before I start feeling sick again.”

That earned him an eyeroll, but MJ knelt over him, her expression morphing from amused to gentle as her hand moved to rest against his jaw, her thumb stroking the corner of his mouth. “I love you.”

He reached up to curl a hand around the back of her neck, the moment shifting from light-hearted to achingly tender as he welcomed her into and against his body, and then there wasn’t space or thought for anything but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter details racial profiling and discussion of racism.
> 
> I've been working on this chapter for a couple of months, on and off. I knew I needed to address the fact that Peter is living in the body of a biracial woman, and that would involve him experiencing racism because people are arseholes, but it's something I was very hesitant about as I am white, and feel vastly unqualified to write something that I have never and will never experience. 
> 
> However, Sosososoout/It's Still Me [commented](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/261497647) a few weeks ago saying she'd hoped to see Peter dealing with "things he may have been noticing in his experiences as a woman of color/black woman", and I realised that it would be wrong to gloss over the realities of MJ's life as a biracial woman, so I doubled-down on getting this chapter into shape. 
> 
> I hope this comes across as authentic and not heavy-handed or naive. It's based on an experience a friend had in an NYC store a few years ago.
> 
> Fuck racism.


	12. Sick and Tired (of Feeling Sick and Tired)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a lot of vomiting - my lovely beta Iarrannme said that if she was pregnant, she probably wouldn't have been able to read this, so please consider this a warning that you shouldn't read this chapter if you might find the content triggering.

Puking was never pleasant, but it was particularly awful when sitting in a car in stop-and-start 2nd Avenue rush hour traffic.

MJ took her eyes off the road ahead for a split second to glance over at Peter heaving into a sick bag, her brow creased with concern. “You shouldn’t be throwing up like this all the time.”

He sealed the sick bag and dropped it into the tote between his feet, scrubbing at his mouth with a tissue. He’d never vomited so much in his life, not even when he got food poisoning in 6th grade and spent three days curled up in May and Ben’s bed with his face stuck in a waste basket.

He’d vomited 147 times in the 11 days since the appointment with Doctor Wu – he’d kept count out of sheer disbelief at the amount of vomit he was producing - and even with his admittedly limited knowledge of pregnancy, he was pretty sure that wasn’t normal. His stomach muscles ached and his throat was raw, and he swore he was developing calluses on his knees from the amount of time he spent hunched over the toilet.

MJ had started driving them into the city because the subway was just too much for him, and he spent almost the entire commute with a sick bag clamped to his face. He was barely functioning and napped away most of his free time, yet never felt anything other than permanently exhausted. “Do you think we should call Doctor Wu?” he rasped, wishing he could drink some water but knowing it’d most likely come straight back up.

MJ turned into the tower’s parking garage, heading for their reserved spot right next to the elevator. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we need to. You’re barely eating, and you’re throwing up almost everything you drink. I practically had to carry you to the car this morning.”

As the car came to a stop, Peter closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to settle his nausea a little in preparation for the less than twenty steps to the elevator. Even contemplating that short distance made him feel drained, and he was starting to wish that he’d listened to MJ and called out sick.

MJ got out of the car and walked around to open his door, obviously recognizing the fact that he had very little energy. He tried to get out before realizing that his seat belt was still fastened, and he stared dumbly at it for a long moment until MJ released it for him. She didn’t say anything, but he could see the concern on her face as she took his hand and helped him stand.

White and black dots danced in his vision, and he swayed, gripping the car door with one hand and her fingers with the other. “Em,” he whispered, knowing he was about to pass out but unable to say more than her name, and then his knees buckled, pitching him towards her.

She caught him, wrapping one arm around his back and scooping his legs up with the other in one smooth movement, cradling him against her chest like he weighed nothing and nudging the car door shut with her foot. “FRIDAY, please tell Tony and Pepper that Peter is sick, and we’re heading up to the residential level.”

Tony was waiting for them in the living room. “Jesus Pete, you look like shit,” he said as MJ settled Peter down on the couch. The change of position made him retch, and Tony tucked a disposable vomit basin underneath his chin just in time to catch his third vomit of the day. His stomach was so empty that he bought up mostly bile, the acrid fluid stinging his already sore throat. He was grateful that Pepper had taken to leaving stacks of vomit basins dotted around the tower – he had little warning about when he was going to puke, and had thrown up on the floor three times the previous week.

He rinsed his mouth out with the water MJ handed him, but didn’t dare swallow any – even the taste made him feel nauseous, which was ridiculous because he knew that water didn’t have any flavor, but his taste buds were insistent that it was metallic.

“I don’t think I can work today,” he murmured, collapsing back against the cushions and curling up on his side, the only position that seemed to ease the queasiness a little. He hated giving in, felt like he should fight through, but the idea of doing anything other than keeping as still as possible was completely over-whelming.

Tony dragged a throw off the back of the couch and draped it over him. “Rest. Sleep if you can. I had FRIDAY contact Connie to set up a home visit.”

Peter suspected that expensive Park Avenue obstetricians didn’t typically visit patients at home, but he guessed that was a world-famous-billionaire-slash-superhero perk that Tony was willing to take advantage of for Peter’s benefit. He wasn’t going to argue about Doctor Wu coming to see him – he had no desire to drag himself the five blocks to go to see her.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing his lips together against the bilious feeling in his stomach. “Sorry.”

Tony knelt next to him, fussing with the throw and tucking it in around his shoulders. “Pete, you have nothing to be sorry for. You can’t help being sick.”

“Not sick. Pregnant.” Peter didn’t have the energy to articulate how inadequate he felt, how pathetic – people coped with morning sickness all the time and didn’t flake out like he had. He should be able to just deal with it.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, kid.” Tony’s hand settled on his shoulder, a warm, reassuring weight. “You know Pep had this hyperemesis thing when she was pregnant with Morgan, right? It cleared up around the half-way point, but she felt like shit for a couple weeks until she finally admitted that it wasn’t regular morning sickness and spoke to Connie. She could barely get out of bed, let alone work.”

Hearing that Pepper Potts-Stark, the most formidable and composed woman Peter knew – and he was in a WhatsApp group chat that included Carol, Shuri, Hope and Wanda – had felt ill enough to miss work made him feel a little better. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s planning on coming up to see you later, give you some tips. She literally knows what you’re going through, Underoos.” With a groan, Tony pushed up off his knees, steadying himself on the couch arm. “FRIDAY, did Connie confirm an appointment time?”

“Doctor Wu will be arriving at 10:00am,” FRIDAY said. “Security has been notified and she will be granted temporary access to the residential level.”

He could hold out one more hour, or at least he could if he didn’t attempt to eat or drink anything. Or move. Or breathe too deeply. “I’ll be back at work tomorrow,” he said.

Tony frowned at him. “Like Hell you will. You and MJ can take this week off, maybe stay here at the tower so you’re close to Connie’s office. No use you rushing back and ending up sick again. Connie’ll fix you up, and maybe the two of you can start looking at the real estate listings I keep sending and you keep ignoring.”

Tony knew full well that the reason they were ignoring them was because the listings were for seven-figure properties, and they could barely afford the rent on their one bed one bath, but he was insistent that he wanted to buy them a house as a baby gift. Part of Peter wanted to say yes and let him, because there was no way a baby was going to fit in their tiny apartment, but another, more prideful part wanted to prove that they could do it on their own, even if that meant moving to the ass-end of Queens. Or even worse - New Jersey.

“We’ll do that. Thanks, Tony,” said MJ, who was sitting quietly with Peter’s feet in her lap. “You and Pepper have been great.”

Tony gave her a soft smile. “You’re family,” he said with a shrug. “I’m gonna clear out and leave you kids to it. Have FRIDAY tell me when Connie’s done.”

With Tony gone, Peter moved his foot to nudge MJ’s thigh with his toes. “Which part of that are we doing?”

She grabbed his foot and moved it back to her lap, tucking the blanket in around his toes. “All of it. But especially the real estate part.”

“I thought you didn’t want to let Tony buy us a house?” Peter said, surprised. He and MJ had discussed it at length, and she’d been adamant that it was too much.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I’d be OK with Tony buying somewhere and then us buying it from him through paying rent. We don’t have the money for a deposit, we can’t afford rent on a bigger place without moving out of Queens, and I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I’m moving to New Jersey.”

He squinted at her. “Get out of my brain, witch.”

“You can have your brain back in November. But what do you think, would Tony go for that idea? We’re obviously not going to pick any of the houses he sent over, but if we didn’t have to worry about saving a deposit and paying interest, we could get a nicer place.”

Peter had never lived in a house – he’d never had a yard, or a second floor, and the idea of a little house with a patch of grass out back was appealing. He didn’t want anything grand – just somewhere to be a family with MJ, raise their child. “Uh – yeah. Yeah, I think he’d do that.” He felt tears well up and swiped at his eyes, once again taken by surprise at the sudden rush of emotion.

“Are you crying?” MJ asked. “What’s up?”

“Just – we’re having a baby.” He sniffed, accepting the tissue MJ pressed into his hand. “I want a yard.”

“Yeah, a yard would be good. Nothing too big, but somewhere the baby can run around.”

“And I want a porch, so we can put out pumpkins and Christmas decorations.” The tears were still coming, and he couldn’t seem to stop them. “And it needs to be near a – a good school.” The last few words were almost unintelligible, drowned in a sob, and MJ was looking at him like he’d lost the plot, but she shuffled around until she was stretched out between him and the back of the sofa, her arm slipping around his waist.

He didn’t even know why he was crying, but he couldn’t stop. He held on to MJ’s arm with one hand and covered his mouth with the other, his shoulders shaking with the intensity of his tears.

MJ shushed him, peppering the side of his face with kisses. “Hey. Hey, it’s OK,” she whispered, murmuring soothing nothings in his ear until the sobs eased up.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. He felt like he was perpetuating the stereotype of being hormonal, emotional and pregnant, but the tears had come out of nowhere and he’d had no choice but to succumb to them. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re not, but even if you were, you’re allowed to be. Don’t sweat it.” MJ entwined her fingers with his, their joined hands clasped over his stomach. “This time last year we were stressing over finals, and now we’re talking about mortgages and school districts. Does this mean we’re real adults?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He could actually feel his mood changing to one of jubilation, and it was the weirdest experience – his emotions were mercurial, and their wild fluctuations were exhausting. “Is anyone ever a real adult? The older I get, the more I realize everyone is just making this shit up as they go along.” He paused. “Except for Pepper. She was born knowing exactly what to do in any situation.”

FRIDAY let out a soft chime. “Doctor Wu has arrived and will be with you in approximately three minutes.”

“Thanks, Fri,” Peter said, as MJ disentangled herself and sat by his feet again. He made a half-assed effort to push himself upright, but his vision wavered, and it felt like his heart had taken up residence in his throat, his pulse fluttering wildly, so he gave it up as a bad job.

Doctor Wu went straight to Peter’s side as soon as she arrived, assessing him with a clinical eye as she took his pulse and blood pressure, softly questioning him about his symptoms throughout. “I’ll need to run some blood and urine tests to confirm the diagnosis, but with your rapid pulse, low blood pressure and excessive vomiting, I can confidently say that you have hyperemesis gravidarum,” she said. “I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear, but I’d like to admit you to hospital overnight for a course of fluids and to start anti-sickness medication.”

A night didn’t sound too bad. He could do a night, right?

***

A night turned into five.

Peter was exhausted, bored and miserable, but the medical staff seemed to have finally found a medication regimen that worked, so the tedium had been worth it. For the first time since being admitted, he’d been able to keep down toast at breakfast, with just a little lingering nausea. They’d finally taken down his IV fluids with the promise that if he was able to eat lunch and dinner and keep on top of his fluid intake without throwing up, they’d discharge him home the following morning. He felt better than he had in weeks, and it was only now, with the sickness mostly under control, that he realized just how ill he’d been.

He’d spent the enforced bed rest catching up on research articles he’d been meaning to read for months, and trawling real estate listings. MJ had returned to work at his insistence – he didn’t see the point in both of them falling behind – and spent all her free time at his bedside, only returning to sleep at the tower when visiting times were over.

He looked up at the sound of someone knocking on the door. “Come in,” he called, and smiled when Pepper stepped into the room, a gift bag in her hand and a smile on her face. “Hey, Pepper! I didn’t know you were coming to see me.”

She hugged him, then set the gift bag down on his table before sitting in the visitor’s chair. “I have a gap between meetings for once, so thought I’d drop by. You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel it. I’ve only thrown up once today, just after waking up, but I can cope with that.” He poked at the bag, curious about the contents. “You didn’t have to bring me anything. Just seeing a familiar face is enough.”

“It’s nothing special, just a ‘surviving hyperemesis’ kit,” she said, as he started to rummage in the bag. “This is what got me through, so I’m hoping it’ll help you too.”

The bag contained several packages of travel sickness wristbands, unscented deodorant and bodywash, a tin of Queasy Drops, Gatorade, and snack sized packages of plain crackers. “This was really sweet of you, thank you.”

She smiled, reaching out to pat his hand. “You’re welcome. I’m here if you need to vent. How’s the bone numbing tiredness? Is that improving any?”

“I’ve barely moved from bed, so I’m not sure. I never seem to get enough sleep, even though I’m asleep like twelve hours a day.” He pulled the wristbands out of their packaging and slipped them onto his wrists. “Do these things actually work?” he asked, shifting them in accordance with the instructions so the little buttons pressed in the right place.

“They worked for me. It might have been coincidental, I’d already started Diclegis and Zofran by that point, but I was so desperate to feel better I was willing to try anything. I didn’t take them off for the rest of my pregnancy just in case they were helping.”

The wristbands felt snug and familiar, almost like wearing his webshooters. “Tony said it went away about half-way through?”

Pepper nodded. “It pretty much cleared up around twenty weeks, but I kept taking a low dose of medication until Morgan was born. I was nauseous most of the time but I found ways to deal with it, learned my triggers. I couldn’t eat full meals, so I just ate something light every couple of hours - I lived off smoothies and spoons of peanut butter. Oh, and Gatorade was amazing – water made me throw up, it tasted wrong.”

“You had the thing with water too? It’s so weird, it tastes like – “

“Pennies,” Pepper chorused with him. “Even now I can’t drink plain water, it makes me feel sick.”

Hearing about Pepper’s own experience was encouraging – she’d made it through, so he could too. It made him feel a little bit less alone, knowing that she knew exactly what he was dealing with. “Did you – uh –“ He trailed off, and ran a finger back and forth under the knit material of the anti-nausea band, embarrassed and not quite sure how to word his question. “Did your, um, chest hurt?” he whispered, gesturing at his pajama clad front.

“My breasts?” Pepper said, raising an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk trembling at the corner of her mouth. “That was how I knew I was pregnant, actually. They were really tender from about four weeks in, right up until the middle of my second trimester, and then about two weeks before I had Morgan, they were rock hard, and if Tony so much as brushed up against them, I growled at him. Oh! Did anyone talk to you about discharge being normal?”

Peter looked down at his chest and back up at Pepper in horror. “From my boobs?” he squeaked. “No!” He twisted the lid off a bottle of cherry Gatorade, taking an awkwardly cautious sip just for something to do with his hands.

He could see that Pepper was trying her hardest not to laugh, the little tic in her cheek a sure tell. “No, not from your boobs, well not yet, anyway. From your vagina.”

Peter choked, red liquid trickling down his chin as he fought to keep it in his mouth. Pepper calmly handed him a handful of tissues and a vomit bowl, and he spat the drink into the cardboard container, gasping for breath.

“You good?” she asked.

He nodded frantically, mopping at his watering eyes. “Give a guy some warning before you start talking about - “ - he lowered his voice – “_vaginas_”.

The look she gave him was so full of mischief that he knew she’d purposely gone for the spit take moment. “Get used to it, honey – people are going to be asking you all sorts of personal questions and sticking their hand places only MJ has been before.”

He didn’t have any hang ups talking about bodies – being raised by a nurse meant that he’d used the correct terminology for everything from a young age, May having no tolerance for cutesy nicknames or body shaming – but this was a different side of Pepper, one he hadn’t seen before, and it felt like a shift in their relationship. She’d always been like a cool and slightly intimidating aunt, but now she felt like a friend, someone on his level.

Pepper must have sensed his shock at her candidness, because she leaned forward, taking his hand in hers. “Sorry if I sound a little blunt, but I felt really alone during my pregnancy, and I could’ve done with some plain talk from someone who’d been through it - I’d never really been around anyone who was pregnant, so all these little things took me by surprise. Your body is going to do some really weird things over the next few months, and it doesn’t matter how supportive everyone is, if they’ve never been pregnant, they just don’t get it.” She paused, and he could see how emotional she was, her teeth worrying at her lower lip, and a pink flush creeping up her neck. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Peter. I just don’t want you to feel like I did.”

“You didn’t, it’s fine,” he assured her. “I was just surprised is all. I want to know things like that. May’s given me a book and instructions not to Google because she knows that’d stress me out, but it’d be cool to have you to talk to.”

She laughed, leaning in to pull him into a lingering hug. “Oh God, no, don’t start Googling, you’ll overwhelm yourself with the amount of information.” She leaned back into her chair. “I can point you in the direction of some really good online support groups, though. I didn’t really get into them until the end of my pregnancy, because everything was really messed up for a few months after the Decimation, but it was great having somewhere to vent at 2:00am.”

Pepper’s honesty had lifted a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. He had so many questions, but he hadn’t wanted to ask May, worried that he’d stir up old grief over her miscarried pregnancies, and he and MJ were the first pregnancy in their group of friends. Knowing that Pepper was willing to have frank and open conversations with him about the realities of pregnancy was incredibly reassuring.

Though he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be completely ready to hear her talk about vaginal discharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure - I have never been pregnant, so anything in this story is the result of a ridiculous amount of research and countless stories from friends about their pregnancies (and in some cases, their experience of hyperemesis gravidarum).
> 
> Peter's hyperemesis is managed relatively quickly, but I realise that not everyone with this condition has that experience. My intent isn't to minimise the impact this awful condition has on people - it will be mentioned again - but it isn't the focus of the story, and as such, Peter is diagnosed and treated far quicker than a lot of people in his situation.
> 
> Also present me hates past me for deciding to use chapter titles - I'm awful at titles, why did I do that to myself?


	13. Windfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter discovers that May and Tony have been secretly scheming for years, and finds himself questioning his principles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Iarrannme for the beta!

Peter tipped his head back under the shower head, rinsing out the deep conditioning mask MJ had told him to apply to his hair, which had been dry and tangled after his stay in hospital. It felt good to stand under the warm water – he hadn’t showered in six days, unable to leave his bed long enough for anything other than using the toilet, and he’d felt gross. Bed baths just didn’t compare to a long shower, particularly the super expensive and fancy ones at the tower.

Squeaky clean, Peter stepped out of the shower and shrugged on a robe before wrapping his hair up in a microfiber towel, feeling almost human again. Being able to stand for more than ten minutes without passing out or throwing up felt like a victory.

He grabbed the hair oil and wide-toothed comb and padded out of the bathroom back into the bedroom, where MJ was going through her own version of his hair care routine. Since their switch, she’d avoided the gelled and combed back look he usually favored, opting instead to apply curl cream and enhance the waves, and he had to admit, she did a better job managing his hair than he did.

“Hey Em, would you comb out my hair for me?” He didn’t often ask her to help, having grown more confident dealing with her hair on his own, but even though he was feeling comparatively better, the exhaustion was still there, and detangling and oiling MJ’s hair took a good twenty minutes.

MJ made one last attempt to tame the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead whatever he tried, and gave it up as a lost cause – even she couldn’t work miracles. “Sure,” she said, patting the chair at the vanity. “You left the mask on for fifteen minutes, right?”

He nodded, handing her the comb and oil before sitting down and pulling off the towel, damp curls spilling down over his shoulders. “Yep. Did everything you told me to.”

MJ set to work and he closed his eyes as the dual sensations of her gentle fingers and the comb working through his hair relaxed him to the point of almost nodding off.

“Up or down?”

“Huh?” He startled a little, jerked out of his blissful state. “Uh, up, please.” As much as he’d learned a lot about looking after MJ’s hair, he still disliked the sensation of it brushing against his neck, and preferred it tied up.

She twisted his hair into a neat French braid that looped all the way around his head, using a couple of bobby pins to secure the tail under a section of hair. “You can keep this in for a couple of days if it’s comfortable,” she said, using his discarded hair towel to wipe the oil from her hands before pressing up against his back and wrapping her arms around him, her chin resting against the crown of his head.

He winced as her forearm pressed against his breasts, and she froze, her embrace loosening before she pulled away entirely. “Did I hurt you?” She met his gaze in the mirror, a look of concern on her face.

He turned on the chair to face her, taking both her hands in his. “You didn’t - it’s fine, honest. I’m just a little sore. Pepper says it’s normal, hormones and stuff.” He rubbed his thumbs across the back of her hands. “You could never hurt me.”

MJ’s lip quivered, and he could see that she was close to tears. “I hate seeing you so ill,” she whispered brokenly. “I wish it was me instead.”

“Hey,” he soothed, standing to hug her. “Hey, it’s OK. _I’m_ OK.”

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, curling in towards him, her arms completely encircling his waist. “My stupid body can’t even be pregnant right,” she said, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear her.

“Stop that,” he said, threading his fingers into her hair. “There’s literally nothing either of us could have done to stop the hyperemesis, it just happens, alright?” When he didn’t get an answer, he pulled back a little. “You got that?”

MJ nodded, but he could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it. I’ve just been worried. I wanted to be with you all the time, because when I wasn’t, I worried even more, and it sucked.”

“I’m home now.” He kissed her, hoping it conveyed how much he loved her, because he did – he loved her more than anything and anyone, and he’d never stop being thankful that they’d fallen in love so young. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do. I love you too.” She smiled at him, soft and vulnerable and open, and he was sixteen again, standing on Tower Bridge with the girl he really liked, sharing their first, second and third kisses that were the start of something bigger. He hoped that feeling never went away, that it continued to feel like he was falling in love with her all over again every single time he looked at her.

The passion built, and in another place, at any other time, it would have resulted in the two of them going back to bed, but they had their family and lunch waiting, so Peter broke the moment, stepping back with more than a little reluctance. “Guess I should get changed,” he said, slipping the robe off his shoulders and draping it over the back of the chair.

MJ’s gaze moved from his face down to his chest, and her mouth dropped open. “When did that happen?”

He looked down, confused. “What do you mean?”

“My boobs look huge. How can you not have noticed?” she exclaimed. “And look, I think you’re starting to show.” She gripped his upper arms and maneuvered him to stand parallel to the full length mirror next to the dressing table.

It was barely noticeable, but there was a definite gentle swell to his belly, and MJ was right – the boobs were definitely bigger. “Oh wow,” he breathed shakily, as MJ skated her hand delicately across his abdomen. The fact that the pregnancy was starting to outwardly show made it feel suddenly very real.

He covered MJ’s hand with his own, their linked fingers splayed across the slight slope of his stomach. “This is so weird,” he said, unable to pull his eyes away from his reflection. “There’s a baby in there.”

MJ laughed. “Is that only just occurring to you now?” she asked, a teasing tone to her voice.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “We’ve seen the scan and I’ve been like, _so _sick I actually thought I might die, but it was just us, and pretty soon everyone will be able to see I’m pregnant and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” He started pulling on his clothes, and frowned when the button on his jeans refused to do up, however much he sucked his stomach in. He hadn’t worn anything other than sweats in days, and it was a shock to see that his body had changed in just that short space of time.

“What do you mean?” MJ asked, as she looped a hair tie through the buttonhole of his jeans and then hooked it over the button. “I thought you were excited about the baby.”

He pulled a t-shirt on and took a moment to think about what he wanted to say, not quite sure how to express what he was feeling. “Of course I am. But it’s just been us and our family who know, and it’s like living in this little pocket of happiness, right? And now people are going to find out and have all these opinions about us just being out of college, and not married, and I kind of want to keep it to ourselves for a while longer, that’s all.”

MJ kissed him again, her lips curling into a smile against his. “I get it.” She brushed her thumb across his bottom lip, her eyes dark and intense. “Are you sure you don’t want to break your ‘no sex at the tower’ rule?”

He looked at her, and it was tempting, even with sore boobs; he hadn’t felt up to doing anything for a couple of weeks and he knew exactly why she’d been taking longer showers, but the timing couldn’t be worse. “Not right now, but maybe later.”

MJ gave him a filthy grin. “Yeah?”

Feeling mischievous, he wrapped his lips around her thumb, swirling his tongue around the tip before releasing it with a pop, and matching her grin. “Yep.”

She let out a little whimper and closed her eyes, her hands moving to clutch at the front of his t-shirt. “Urgh, I hate you,” she moaned.

“And I hate you too.”

She opened one eye to squint at him. “Later?”

“Later,” he promised. “Come on, let’s go let everyone fuss over us.”

***

Peter quite enjoyed the fussing – MJ had driven him to the tower from the hospital and they’d gone straight to their room, so he hadn’t seen anyone until they emerged for their postponed Saturday family lunch date.

Pepper – who Peter appreciated more than ever – had set out a buffet of the blandest food possible. He’d never seen so much beige on one table, but he’d been able to eat half a plain bagel, some cold chicken and a couple of bread sticks, and it all stayed put, which felt like a small miracle.

Morgan was sitting crossed-legged on a bean bag she’d dragged out of her room, crunching on a carrot stick and staring at him, her usually animated features solemn. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, and had barely acknowledged him when he’d entered the room.

“Hey MoMo,” he said gently, smiling at her. “How you doing?”

She burst into tears. “Are you dying?” she sobbed, dropping her carrot stick into her lap.

“What? No, I’m not dying, what made you think that?” He dropped onto the beanbag next to her and pulled her into a hug.

“Mom and Dad have been whispering about you all week and they wouldn’t tell me why you were in hospital,” she said, her tears soaking into his t-shirt. “And I wanted to come see you but they said I couldn’t.”

He looked over at MJ, who mouthed ‘Tell her’. They’d been waiting to tell Morgan until the pregnancy was further along, but she was so upset, and Peter didn’t want to lie to her.

“Your mom and dad didn’t tell you because we asked them not to, Mo, I’m sorry. But it’s nothing scary, I promise.” He thumbed the tears away from her cheeks. “You’re going to be an aunt. Me and MJ are having a baby.”

Morgan jumped up from the beanbag, double-face palming much like her father had upon being told the news. “Are you really having a baby?” she scream-whispered from behind her hands. “_Really _really? You’re not joking?” She’d definitely inherited Tony’s dramatic tendencies.

“Really really,” Peter confirmed, and then Morgan pounced on him, clinging to him like a little spider-monkey and squealing excitedly in his ear. “I guess you’re excited?” he said, as Morgan finally let go and rolled off the bean bag and on to the floor, limbs star-fished over the rug.

“Yes! Can I baby-sit? What are you going to call it? Will the baby have its own bedroom here? I’ll share with them if there’s no room, I don’t mind.” Morgan wasn’t genetically related to Peter, but man, she was just like ten year-old him, all breathy enthusiasm and big doe eyes.

“Breathe, Maguna,” Tony laughed, wiggling his toes against her ribs and making her squeal. “The baby isn’t going to be here for another few months. You don’t have to ask every question right now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest, Pepper Potts-Stark in miniature. “But you told me that asking questions is a sign of intelligence.”

Pepper snorted inelegantly, turning the noise into a cough and hiding her smile behind her hand as Tony squinted back at his daughter. “Don’t throw my own words back at me, you awful child,” he said, slipping down off the couch to sprawl out next to her. “Another sign of intelligence is knowing when to _stop _asking questions.”

MJ leaned in towards Peter, stealing an unwanted bread stick and biting the end off with a crunch. “We have this to look forward to,” she murmured, watching Tony and Morgan bicker with a fond smile playing about her lips.

“I can’t wait,” he said, and he meant it. The idea of having their own little Morgan gave him a little swooping thrill of anticipation in his stomach, and a longing to be able to take just a sneak peek at the future to see what their child would look like. Waiting another thirty weeks to meet them felt like a lifetime.

“Hey Morgan,” MJ said, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Tony’s shrieking as he tried to twist away from Morgan’s unerring fingers burrowing into his side. “You can babysit when the baby is three, if your mom and dad are OK with that. I started babysitting when I was thirteen and I loved it.”

Only Peter knew that MJ had started babysitting at thirteen to bring some money into the house – she’d never spent a single cent on herself, instead slipping the money into her mom’s purse when she wasn’t looking or buying groceries on her way home from school. That wasn’t something Morgan was ever going to experience.

Morgan bounded across the room to fling herself into the empty seat next to MJ, chattering excitedly, and Tony rolled himself up off the floor.

“Pete, you got a minute?” he said when he was back on his feet. “May and I want to talk to you about something.”

Curious, Peter glanced at MJ, who shrugged before turning her attention back to Morgan and answering the many baby-related questions being fired her way.

He followed Tony and May through to the kitchen, perching on a stool at the island and looking at them expectantly. “Everything OK?”

Tony and May sat on their own stools across from him, shoulder to shoulder, a united front, and he felt like a teenager again. It’d been a while since they’d teamed up to parent him.

“MJ talked to me about her idea of my buying somewhere that the two you could buy it from me in rent,” Tony said, scratching at his goatee, one of his few tells when he was nervous. “That’s a great idea, but you don’t need to do that.”

“Tony, you know we appreciate everything you do for us but we’re not letting you buy us a house,” Peter protested as Tony slid a folder across the countertop. “It’s too much.”

“I’m not buying you a house,” Tony said. “Open that up and take a look for me kid, would ya?”

Peter did as he was asked, finding a stack of paperwork, a bank statement on the very top. It was for an account in his name, and the balance nearly made him topple off his stool in shock. “Why does a bank account in my name have –“ he checked the number again to make sure he hadn’t misread it – “$5,619,492? Did I win the lottery or something?”

“Or something. Remember me telling you that I licensed the name Spider-Man?”

“Yeah. And I remember telling you that I didn’t want to make any money from Spider-Man and to donate it to charity,” Peter said, feeling just as passionate about that particularly thorny issue as his sixteen year-old-self had been. “So why is that money sitting in a bank account?”

Tony snorted. “It’s cute that you think Spider-Man merchandise made five million bucks.”

“Oh.” Peter suddenly felt like an idiot, and an egotistical one to boot.

“That’s just the interest from the investments made before donating each year’s licensing fee revenue. There was understandably a bit of a dip in sales between ’18 and ’23, but Spider-Man merchandise has made around 950 million in the last thirteen years, and generated sixty million in licensing fees. You’re actually the most profitable superhero.” Tony said the figures so calmly that Peter almost didn’t register the sheer amount of money he was talking about.

“950 _million_?” he echoed, gripping the edge of the countertop in an effort to remain upright. He’d never thought to ask Tony about the money made from the Spider-Man name – he’d been so adamant that he didn’t want to profit from his alter-ego that he’d just told Tony to donate it all and then put it out of his mind. “You’re joking, right?”

“He’s not joking, honey,” May said. “People love you, and you’ve helped so many charities by being so selfless. Which is why when Tony talked to me about licensing Spider-Man, I asked him to set aside any accumulated interest from the revenue. You do so much good, I just wanted you to have a nest egg to fall back on.”

“Five and a half million dollars isn’t a nest egg May, it’s … it’s crazy, is what it is. What am I going to do with that much money?” The idea was actually making him uneasy – he wasn’t Spider-Man to make money, it wasn’t a job - it was a responsibility. It felt wrong to profit from it. “I don’t want it.”

Tony left his seat to sit next to Peter, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Pete, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you about the money, and since you’ve made it clear you won’t let me buy you a house, this seems like the best solution. This is a good thing - you can buy a house in a nice area, give your family the best start without worrying about money.”

May sat on Peter’s other side and took his hand. “You can pay off your kid’s college tuition before they’re even born.” She paused for a moment, biting at her lip. “And if anything happens to you, MJ and the baby will be financially secure.” Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a sob. “Peter, please just take the money. You work so hard protecting us all, you deserve to have some financial security, a place you can call your own.”

“May’s right, kid,” Tony said, his hand moving to rest at the back of Peter’s neck. “I know it sounds like a lot of money, but it’s not a life-changing sum in the grand scheme of things. You’re probably looking at just shy of two million for a house, so that’ll take a good chunk of it. And then you’ve got taxes and HOA at a couple grand a month, which is a lot for two post-grad students with a new baby.”

Peter could see the sense in just accepting the money, but it felt like betraying every principle he had. “If I say yes, then it stops, OK? No more interest, donate everything from now on. I’m not Spider-Man for the money.”

“That’s pretty clear already,” Tony said with a laugh. “But you know that nobody would think anything of it, right? Wilson and Barnes live off the interest from investments. Same for Rogers and Barton. How do you think Cap pays for his fancy retirement home?”

“It’s not like any of them can go and get a job like I can though, they’re too well known. I can work as Peter Parker.” Peter knew he was being stubborn, and that most people would jump at the chance to be an instant millionaire, but he just couldn’t shake the thought that it wasn’t right to take the money.

Tony patted his shoulder, giving him a little shake at the same time. “Being Spider-Man is pretty much a full-time job with no pay or benefits. I know you want to work as Peter Parker, and that’s admirable, but this money means you can still do that and maybe cut down on your hours, spend time with your kid before they grow up and start having kids of their own.” He chuckled, suddenly seeming a little melancholy. “Believe me, that day will come sooner than you expect.”

Peter leaned into the hug Tony tugged him into. “Everything the two of you’ve said makes sense, it really does, but I just feel like such a fraud taking the money, you know?”

“We could put up a GoFundMe called ‘Buy a house for Spider-Man’ right this second and we’d reach our goal by midnight,” May said. “Every single cent made from the licensing fees has gone to charity just like you asked. Technically, you’ve not taken money from anyone, just banks, and fuck banks. Take their money, baby. Buy a house in Forest Hills, have babies with MJ, and start the next chapter of your life.”

“Forest Hills, huh?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow. He was done protesting - he’d been convinced to just take the money and be grateful. Tony was wrong about one thing though – it _was _a life-changing amount for people like Peter and MJ. They’d be in the enviable position of being mortgage-free at an age where most people were at least a decade out from buying their own place, if ever, and their children would never have to worry about student loans. He was determined that the rest of the money would remain untouched, set aside to take care of MJ and the baby if he died. Knowing that they’d be well provided for went a long way towards assuaging his guilt over accepting the money.

“I’m going to need my grandbabies close,” May replied. “And Forest Hills is a great place to raise kids.”

He did miss living in Forest Hills – Sunnyside was great, and close to the city, but it was further out from where he tended to patrol, and it just didn’t have the same feel. “I guess we need to start house hunting then.”

May squealed, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing his forehead. “I’m so excited for you both. I already have a bookmarks folder full of places for you to take a look at, I’ll send the links to you after you’ve told MJ.”

“And I’ll put a call in to my realtor, get her on the case,” Tony said. “If you find a place you like, you can probably be in by the end of June.”

It was all moving so fast and it was slightly terrifying, but exciting at the same time. He hadn’t planned on having a baby and buying a house at the age of twenty-two, but now it was happening, it all felt so right. He was ready to take the next step, with MJ right by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a ridiculous amount of time Googling the following:
> 
> a: how much money Spider-Man and Avengers merchandise makes (and adjusting it accordingly for a universe that doesn't have Avengers films backed by a monolithic corporation);  
b: how much return would be made on investments from the licensing fees (I know next to nothing about how it works, so please don't examine that part too closely);  
c: how much nice, move-right-in houses cost in various parts of Queens (I now have a folder of houses that Peter and MJ would potentially look at and I want them for myself).
> 
> I know the MCU has had some flack over the fact that Spider-Man is Iron Man Jr with all the high tech gadgetry that comes along with knowing Tony Stark, and that Spider-Man is typically hard up for cash and living in crappy apartments, but meh, he deserves nice things, so this is the route I'm taking in this particular fic. 
> 
> I'm hoping to get back to a weekly-ish posting schedule, so let's see how that goes!


	14. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up to find an unexpected visitor at the door.

Peter woke up to an empty bed.

He knuckled the sleep from his eyes with one hand and reached for his phone with the other, squinting at the bright screen as he checked the time, surprised to see it was nearly midday.

MJ had left him a post-it on the phone – she’d gone to the store, and had called May and Tony to push back their Saturday morning brunch to dinner. She’d also left him a travel mug full of chamomile tea and a granola bar on the bedside table, another note stuck to the mug ordering him to drink and eat before getting out of bed.

Propping himself up against a stack of pillows, he scrolled through notifications as he nibbled cautiously on the granola bar. A ‘May the Fourth be With You’ message from Ned, an email from the realtor Tony had set them up with confirming two house viewings for later that afternoon, and an alert from their pregnancy tracking app that informed him the baby was now the size of an apricot or a tree frog.

He was just debating if his stomach was going to cooperate with getting out of bed when the decision was taken out of his hands by a knock at the front door. He wrapped his old, ratty dressing gown over his pajamas and slouched to the living room, cursing whichever one of the other apartments had let someone into the building.

He didn’t expect to find MJ’s mother standing at the door.

“Uh – what are you doing here?” he stammered, clinging to the door handle like it was a lifeline. “I didn’t know you were coming to visit.”

Monica raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down, from his hormonally spotty face and scarf-wrapped hair to his fuzzy-socked feet. “Can a mother not visit her daughter after hearing that she’s pregnant?” She slipped in past him, clearly assessing the apartment and finding it lacking.

He was painfully aware of the unwashed dishes in the sink and the fact that he was still wearing pajamas at midday. “Sorry about the mess, we got in late last night. M - Peter is out getting groceries, but he probably won’t be long.”

Monica set her purse down on the arm of the couch, and Peter awkwardly hovered by the door as she looked around the small living room. She’d never visited the apartment, this was only Peter’s fourth time meeting her in person, and he had absolutely no idea what to say to the woman, other than to ask her why she seemed to try her hardest to distance herself from her daughter.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offered, closing the door and heading into the kitchen. “We’ve got coffee, tea, orange juice – I could make hot chocolate?”

“Water’s fine,” Monica said, sitting perched on the very edge of the couch. She looked completely out of place, far too polished and uptight for their tiny, shabby, but well-loved apartment with throws and books everywhere.

Peter silently handed her a glass of water and took a seat in the chair catty-corner to the couch, cinching his robe more firmly closed. “When did you get in? We don’t have a guest room but we can take the fold-out if you want to stay here?” Even as the words left his mouth, he desperately wanted to recall them, but May had raised him to be polite to guests, even unexpected and uninvited ones, and he couldn’t be rude.

“I booked into a hotel on 36th,” Monica said, taking a sip of water before placing the glass down on the coffee table. “You look like you’ve been ill. You’ve lost weight.”

Peter hadn’t realized that MJ hadn’t told her mom about his hospitalization. “I was in hospital last week for hyperemesis gravidarum. It took a while to find the right medication but I’ve stopped being so sick all the time.”

“You didn’t think to call me and let me know?” Monica snapped.

“What could you have done? You live 3,000 miles away, and I haven’t seen you in two years.” He tried to keep his voice as unaccusatory as possible – he didn’t want to destroy the already fragile relationship MJ had with her mom, but the reality was, Monica wasn’t a big part of her daughter’s life, and it was pointless to pretend otherwise.

“I’m thinking about moving back to New York.”

Well, wasn’t _that_ unexpected. “Why? I thought you liked living in California?”

“You’re going to be a mother. You can’t rely on that boyfriend of yours sticking around for long, and God knows you’ll need help taking care of that baby. And as you pointed out, I live 3000 miles away, I can’t do much in California. Besides, my contract ends next month so if I’m going to move back here, now’s the time to do it.”

Peter bristled at the implication that he and MJ wouldn’t be able to take care of a child. ”Don’t move back on my account,” he bit out, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “We’re more than capable of raising this baby on our own, thank you very much.”

He thought he saw a brief flash of pain pass across Monica’s face before she schooled her features back into her usual haughty expression. “You’re both twenty-two years old. What makes you think that boy wants to be tied down to you and a baby?”

Peter held up his left hand, pointing at the ring he’d placed there the day of their college graduation. “’That boy’ is called Peter, and we’re engaged. We’re buying a house together. He isn’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t know that.”

“And _you _can’t know that he’ll leave me. We love each other, we’re excited about the baby and spending the rest of our lives together - why can’t you just be happy for us?” He really wanted MJ to get back from running errands; this was fast shaping up to be one of the most awkward conversations of his life, and he’d once had to detach a woman – who was dressed in a Spider-Man costume – from a web-themed sex swing.

“I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did. Babies change everything.”

“Are you calling me a mistake?” he demanded angrily. “Because it sounds like you are. And you want to help raise our baby? Why would you want to be around yet another ‘mistake’ if that’s how you feel about M-me? This baby might be unplanned, but at least it’s wanted.”

Monica’s carefully maintained façade of control crumpled, and Peter could see tears welling up in her eyes. “I didn’t mean – Mimi, I love you. I don’t regret having you. I just wish I could have given you the kind of life you deserved, rather than passing you off to anyone who could look after you so I could work.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Being a mom is hard, baby girl. It’s just you and that baby, day in day out, and even if you have a husband, he’ll carry on like nothing has changed.”

“Actually, Peter is going to reduce his hours at work to be at home with the baby,” he said, unmoved by her tears but given hope by her words. “I’ll be going to law school next year, and he’s going to work for Stark Industries. His boss just bought out his patent for a bio-medical aid he designed, and it made enough money that we can buy a house mortgage-free.” He stuck with the official cover story for his unexpected windfall – Monica didn’t know that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, and he wasn’t sure she ever would.

“I suppose it’ll be in his name, not yours,” she scoffed, slamming the brakes on his hope that she was beginning to understand. “Then when he wants to move on to his next conquest, it’ll be easy enough to get you and the baby out.”

Peter had finally reached the end of his tolerance – Monica seemed determined to dislike Peter Parker. “Not every man is like Joe. Peter isn’t going to run off and leave me, and you need to accept that we’re happy, and in this for the long haul. I want you to be part of this baby’s life, but that’s not going to happen if you carry on like this.”

MJ chose that exact moment to return from the store, multiple bags swinging from her hands as she bumped the door closed with her elbow. She froze in the entryway when she saw her mom on their couch, her face immediately taking on the shuttered expression she usually wore when she was upset or surprised, and Peter figured this situation was probably causing her to be both. “Mo - Monica?” she said, as she deposited the grocery bags on the kitchen peninsula. “I didn’t know you were visiting.” She returned to Peter’s side, sitting on the arm of his chair and leaning in close to him.

“Mom’s talking about moving back out here,” he said. “She thinks you’re going to run off and leave me.”

“Well, I’m not,” MJ said forcefully. “I know Joe left you both, but I’m not going anywhere, and if for some reason MJ and I did break up, I’d still support her and the baby.”

Monica looked at the two of them, and Peter didn’t know if he was projecting but he was sure he saw something shift in her expression, a subtle softening of the tension around her eyes and the lines around her mouth. “You’re sure about this,” she said, looking at Peter.

“I am,” Peter said softly, holding on to MJ’s hand. “Mom, all I want is for you to love this baby. I know we’re young, but we’re ready.”

“I can do that,” Monica said. All the bitterness and fight seemed to have left her, leaving her quiet and sad. “I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye, but I’m so proud of you, Mimi. I want to know my grandchild. I don’t want to watch them grow up through Skype and I don’t want to miss their childhood like I missed yours.”

Peter squeezed MJ’s hand, feeling her fingers tremble within his grasp. He knew how painful it had to be for her to finally hear her mom admit what she’d been waiting to hear for years, yet not be able to outwardly react to it. “And we’d like you to be a part of their life, Mom. I know how hard you had to work when I was younger, and I also know you didn’t want to be away from me all the time.” He moved to sit next to her, hoping that he was saying what MJ would want to say. “I’m sorry we didn’t have the best relationship when I was growing up, but it’s never too late. I want you to get to know Peter, and realize that he’s not going to leave me, because he loves me more than anything.”

Monica hesitantly took his free hand, wrapping it in both of hers. She and MJ shared the same long, elegant fingers, her hands still smooth and unmarked, and he felt a sudden sympathy for the woman in front of him. She’d been seventeen years old when she’d had MJ, the last precious sunset days of her childhood and her plans for her future completely upended by a baby, and a boy who ran away from his responsibilities. “I know we have a lot to talk about, baby girl. But I’m going to try to be the kind of mom you should have had all those years ago.”

He leaned into her, resting his head against her shoulder as she slipped her arms around him. “I love you, Mom.” It felt strange saying words he had no memory of ever saying before, to someone else’s mother, but he knew that it was true – MJ did love her mother, regardless of their complicated relationship.

“I love you too.” They held one another for a long moment, and then Monica pulled away, looking over at MJ. “Peter, I’m sorry I’ve been so hostile to you.” The apology wasn’t quite through gritted teeth, but it was obvious that the words didn’t come easily.

MJ gave a little shrug. “It’s fine. I get it. Kind of hard to trust a man to look after your daughter when her own dad wouldn’t. But I promise I’ll always be there for them.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” she said, a note of sternness in her voice. “And you need to know that MJ is a strong woman who could do it without you if she had to, but you’re not going to make her ever have a reason to find that out, you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” MJ said. “I’m fully aware that MJ could and would kick my ass if I ever hurt her.”

“Glad to hear it.” Monica pulled her coat back on, picking her purse up from the couch. “I need to go and check in at the hotel. I have apartment viewings for most of the day tomorrow and fly back out Monday, but I’d like to see you both in the evening?”

Peter looked over at MJ, and she nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Monica insisted on showing herself out, and when the door closed behind her, MJ visibly sagged with relief, dropping onto the couch in a loose-limbed sprawl. “That was –“

“Weird?” Peter filled in, flopping next to her.

“I was going to say intense, but weird works.” She pulled a cushion into her lap, wrapping her arms around it and fiddling with the zipper. “I don’t know how to feel,” she confessed. “She seemed pretty sincere, but she’s made promises like this before and they never happened.”

“I think she means it,” Peter said gently, stilling MJ’s restless fingers with his own. “She deserves a second chance, Em.”

“I guess. But this is more like her twentieth chance and I’m tired of letting her back in only to have her shut me out again.” MJ covered her face with her hands, letting out a frustrated sigh. “God, I must sound so selfish, when you’d do anything to spend time with your parents and Ben. She just – I can’t explain how she makes me feel, you know? I love her so much, and I admire the way she worked so hard to get her degree and still held down two jobs, but I still feel like I’m constantly disappointing her.”

“You don’t sound selfish,” Peter told her, stroking a hand up and down her back. “I know your mom can be difficult sometimes. But maybe knowing that we’re having a baby has made her think about the kind of mom she is and the kind of mom you’ll be. And if she flakes out on you again, you’ve got me.”

She dropped her hands and gave him a tight-lipped smile that softened into tenderness. “Yeah. I’ve got you,” she said. “I’ll give her a chance. But if she carries on being so mean to you – to me, I guess – then I’m done, OK? I might want her in my life, but I don’t _need_ her.”

“OK,” he agreed. “We’ll spend time with her while she’s in town, see if the Parker charm can win her over.”

“’Parker charm’?” MJ raised a skeptical eyebrow, but a smile played about her lips.

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” He laughed as she twisted to straddle his lap, pulling him into a kiss. “See? You can’t keep your hands off me.”

“I’ll admit it, you have a certain charm. A geeky, awkward charm. But I like it.” She kissed him again, then stood, holding her hand out to help him up off the couch. “We have a house viewing in an hour, so you’d better get ready, unless you’re planning on going dressed like that.”

***

“How you feeling, Pete?” Tony said, as Peter and MJ dropped onto the empty couch in the Tower living room. “You’re looking better.”

“Getting there,” Peter said, as Morgan slithered over the back of the couch and burrowed insistently in between him and MJ, flinging her legs over MJ’s lap and resting her upper back against Peter’s thighs. “I haven’t been sick today, so I’m taking that as a win.” He booped Morgan on the nose, kissing her on the forehead when she tilted her head back to glare at him. “House hunting is exhausting though.”

“How was it? Any you’re interested in?”

“They sucked,” MJ said, draping her arms across Morgan’s legs. “They all needed too much work and were in horrible neighborhoods.”

“You can say ‘I told you so,’” Peter told Tony, amused by the way he was so obviously trying to keep the smug look off his face. “You were right. We need to up our budget to get everything we want in the area we want.”

Tony grinned, looking up at FRIDAY’s camera. “FRIDAY, did you make a note of that? I want it on the record that I was right.”

“Noted, Boss. I filed it in the ‘unusual occurrences’ folder.”

Peter snickered to himself and covered Morgan’s eyes as Tony made a rude gesture at the ceiling. “We’ve asked the realtor to set up a couple of viewings for tomorrow, and we wondered if you wanted to come? May is, and we could do with a couple of second opinions.”

“I’m in,” Tony said. “But you know if you do find somewhere you like that needs a little work, I can send my team in to remodel it however you like, no charge.”

“We want a place we can just move straight into,” MJ said. “But thanks.” She’d been pretty subdued since her mom left, and the shitty house viewings had just sent her mood even lower.

Tony, who claimed to be terrible with emotions but was actually very good at reading people, frowned, his brow crinkling in concern. “OK, what’s wrong?”

MJ shrugged. “Just my mom being my mom.”

Tony looked to Peter for an explanation when it became clear that MJ wasn’t going to elaborate. “MJ’s mom doesn’t like me,” he said.

“But you’re – “ Tony gestured up and down – “you. How can she not like Peter Parker? You’re a fu – uh, frickin’ delight. A golden retriever given human form. An actual cinnamon roll, I think that’s what the kids say, right?”

Peter screwed his nose up. “Thanks, I guess? But Monica doesn’t know that, and she’s just being protective of MJ. I’m not going to blame her for looking out for her daughter.”

“You’ll win her over kid, or I guess MJ will. She’ll see how good the two of you are together.”

Morgan wriggled around until she was snuggled up against MJ. “MJ, is your mom mean?”

MJ looked down at her. “No, she’s not mean. She just wasn’t around much when I was growing up, and my dad moved away when I was little, so she had to do everything on her own.”

Morgan took a moment to process it. “Why doesn’t she like Peter?”

“She thinks he’s going to leave me and the baby like my dad left her.”

“Is she scared?” Morgan said, sounding preternaturally wise for a ten-year-old. “Maybe if she gets to know him, she’ll see that Peter is nice.”

“When did you get so grown up?” MJ asked her, slipping an arm around her small shoulders and drawing her into a hug. “I think my mom is scared, yeah. She was seventeen when she had me, and she had to work really hard with no family to help, so she doesn’t want that to happen to me.”

“You’ve got us,” Tony said. “You know we’re there for both of you, whatever happens. Once your mom deals with her own issues, she’ll realize that your situation is very different to hers. And if she doesn’t, well, that’s her loss.”

Peter hoped he was right, but even if Monica couldn’t move on from her complicated past and be there for her daughter, he knew MJ would deal with it, and he’d support her. Family was important, but he knew better than anybody that family meant more than just being related by blood. He didn’t have a single living blood relative, but he had a family that loved and supported him for who he was, not for his genetics, and that same family loved MJ too.

They weren’t going to be doing this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme/pseuds/iarrannme) for the beta, and steering me away from resolving MJ and Peter's relationship with her mum too quickly. She was right!


	15. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme) for the beta - it is much appreciated, as always.

Peter checked his phone for the third time in two minutes. “She’s late,” he said, jiggling his leg. “I told her not to go out on patrol before the viewings.”

“Kid, relax. She’s about three minutes out,” Tony said from the back seat, holding his phone out to show Peter the little flashing beacon that represented MJ. “See?”

Peter huffed, rifling through the glove box for the ginger cookies he’d stashed there. “I hate being late,” he said, nibbling at the edge of the cookie and letting it dissolve on his tongue, seeking a little relief from his queasiness. He caught May’s look of disbelief in his peripheral vision. “What?”

“Peter, you’ve never been on time for anything in your life, even before Spider-Man,” she said.

“I got us here on time today, didn’t I?” The cookie didn’t seem to be helping, so he wrapped it in a tissue and tossed it back into the glove box. “I just worry about her, that’s all.”

May patted his hand. “I know, baby. But she’s on her way, so she’s OK.”

A sudden knock on the window made him jump. He opened it and gave the realtor a sheepish grin. “Hey, Judy.”

Judy smiled back at him. “Will Peter be joining us soon? I hate to rush you, but if you want to make the open house after this, then we’ll need to head in.”

“He’s on his way,” Peter assured her. “I can text him to meet us inside if you want?”

“No need,” Tony said, turning around to look through the rear windshield. “I see him.”

Peter looked in the rearview mirror and saw MJ jogging up the street towards them, her gait slightly off-balance and one hand pressed against her side, and his heart felt like it missed a few beats before taking up residence in the back of his throat.

He flung the door open just as MJ drew level with the car, leaning over with her hands braced against her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. “Sorry, sorry,” she panted, her flushed face not hiding her rapidly blooming black eye and swollen jaw. “There was a thing. I was - I was mugged.”

Judy gasped. “Do you need to call the police? We can reschedule the viewings for another day.”

MJ waved her off, straightening up. “No. No, it’s OK, I’ve already spoken to the police. I’m fine.” She reached for Peter’s hand and he gave her a look that he hoped conveyed _‘you’d better tell me the truth later_’.

Judy didn’t look convinced, but she led them up the shallow steps of the front porch and into the foyer of the house.

Peter tried to pay attention to what she was telling them about the property as they moved through its unfurnished rooms, but he didn’t process it – he was already completely in love with the floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the interior with soft light, and the open plan layout that meant he could see right through to the backyard from the entry. They’d barely made it into the house, and he was already mentally moving in, imagining their mismatched thrifted or inherited furniture scattered through the rooms.

“We’ll need a couple of new sofas,” he murmured to MJ, who gave him a look that managed to combine fondness and exasperation all in one. “And a fire guard for when the baby is here.”

“We haven’t left the first floor yet,” she said. “Maybe wait and see what the rest of the house is like before you have us moved in.”

“Uh huh,” he murmured, as they stepped into the glossy, expensive-looking kitchen diner. “There’s an island,” he noted as the realtor chatted with Tony about the house’s renovation history. “I always wanted a kitchen with an island.”

“You’ve watched too many episodes of Property Brothers,” MJ said, rolling her eyes at him, but her smile was soft and affectionate. “I’m more excited about the breakfast nook. Look at all that natural light. It’ll be great for sketching and reading.”

The tour moved on to the second floor, and Peter fell more in love with the house with every new room.

“This is a four-bedroomed property, but the current owners used it as a three bed,” Judy said, leading them into the master bedroom. “They had the bedroom next to this set up as a private living room, but it’d make a great nursery.”

The room was almost bigger than the entire square footage of their apartment, with twin walk in closets and a huge en-suite bathroom. French doors opened onto a balcony with a view of a small but beautifully landscaped yard.

“Em, I love it,” he whispered as they headed back downstairs towards the basement. “It’s perfect.”

She squeezed his hand, not saying anything, but he could see that she was falling in love with the house too, obvious in the way she assessed the place with her artist’s eye.

His idle daydreams of what his future home with MJ would look like had been much more modest than the house they stood in. He’d pictured a small, slightly worn townhouse, not a huge, airy, detached house, but now he’d seen it, he couldn’t imagine them living anywhere else. It was a five-minute walk from May and Happy, less than an hour’s commute to the city, and the schools were great and the crime rate low.

When the tour reached the back yard, Judy stepped back inside the house, giving them some privacy to talk it over, and Tony looked at them, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. “I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. This place is perfect for you.”

“Is it too much?” MJ said, biting her lip uncertainly. “I mean, I know we’re having a baby, but do we need all those rooms?”

“Well, I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t stop at one,” Peter said without thinking. “Uh – but only if you want more than one, and not any time soon, obviously. I just – yeah.”

“I’m not ruling more kids out after this one. And I guess it’d be nice to have a guest room. It just feels like we’re …”

“Cheating?” Peter finished. Their circle of friends was small, but almost everyone within it lived in studio or one bed apartments, post-grad salaries and student loans not allowing for much else. Houses like this were supposed to be a decade or more in the future, something to aspire to. And even though he’d accepted the money, he still felt like he hadn’t done anything to earn it.

“You’re just skipping the starter home,” May said. “You can settle right into your family home and not worry about moving again unless you want to. You shouldn’t feel like you’re cheating. If you like it, buy it.”

“What do you think?” he asked MJ. “I love it. The neighborhood is diverse, there’s plenty of space for having people over. But it’s got to be right for you. If it isn’t what you want, we’ll keep looking.”

She slipped her hand into his. “I love it too,” she said. “I think we should put an offer in.”

The idea of spending a huge amount of money on a house was still slightly terrifying, though he’d admit that his stress level had dropped considerably since finding out what Tony and May had put in place all those years ago. He and MJ had thought they’d end up in a shitty part of town, settling for somewhere they could afford rather than an area they loved, so being able to buy a house cash was an unexpected luxury.

Tony grinned. “Never thought I’d see the two of you in the ‘burbs, but I can imagine you here. Lots of space for baby Jones-Parker, and a spare room for me when Pepper gets sick of my bullshit and kicks me out.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Peter said as Judy saw him gesturing for her join them and slid open the door, stepping back out into the yard.

“We want to put in an offer,” MJ told her, her calm voice at odds with the excited tension that had her bouncing on her heels. “If it’s accepted, how soon do you think we can be in?”

“If you’re still planning on paying cash, as early as the first week of June,” Judy said.

“That quickly? Really?” Peter asked. “I thought it’d take months.”

“The place has been empty since last year, and the owners are keen to sell as quickly as possible, so I think you’ll get a quick response.”

Things really did happen faster when you had money. He’d anticipated a process lasting several months, potentially carrying on until after the baby was due, so knowing that they could potentially move in within a month wasn’t something he’d even considered.

“The sooner the better,” he said. “We’d like to be in and settled before the baby arrives.”

“I’ll call them with your offer now.” The realtor pulled out her phone and made the call, Peter and MJ watching anxiously until she hung up. “You should know by this evening, tomorrow at the latest. I’ll call as soon as I hear anything.”

Back in the car, Peter settled into the driver’s seat, MJ sitting on the passenger side and May joining Tony in the back. “So,” he said, raising an eyebrow at MJ.

“So?” she echoed.

He gestured at her bruised face. “Who ‘mugged you’?”

MJ blushed, her chin dropping to her chest. “I fell,” she mumbled.

“From?”

She sighed. “I climbed a tree to rescue a cat, it tried to claw my face off, and I fell. I think I hit every branch on the way down. And then the cat got down on its own and curled up on my ass.”

Peter tried to contain his amusement, but a snicker snuck out before erupting into a full-on belly-laugh that had him holding his stomach. “What a cat-astrophe,” he wheezed.

“Shut up.” MJ shoved at his shoulder. “Stop it, Peter, it’s not funny.” The way her lips twitched suggested that she felt otherwise, merriment crinkling the skin around her eyes.

“I cat-egorically said not to go on patrol. Your face looks paw-ful.”

”Nice,” Tony commented drily. “You’ve been working on your dad jokes, kid.”

Peter’s giggles finally lessened, and he gasped for breath. “Ow, my stomach hurts.”

“Don’t you mean ‘me-ow’?” MJ smirked, setting him off again. “That cat was fur-midable, it’s no wonder I had an un-fur-tunate accident.”

“Stop, I’m gonna pee my pants,” Peter howled, awkwardly crossing his legs and pressing his hands to his crotch. “No, seriously, I’m gonna wet myself.”

MJ had him out of the car and heading back up the steps to the house in a matter of seconds, as Judy turned from locking the door. “She needs to use the toilet,” MJ said, nodding her head towards Peter, who was doubled over and squeaking.

Judy winced in sympathy. “I don’t miss that part of pregnancy,” she said, as she unlocked the door again, swinging it open and standing aside.

Peter made it to small bathroom off the foyer just in time to avoid an un-fur-tunate accident of his own.

***

Judy called later that evening.

Peter froze when her name appeared on his phone, dropping the potato he was peeling into the sink. “Em, Judy is calling.”

“Answer, then.” MJ wiped her hands on a dishcloth and leaned against the counter, grinning at him.

“Hi Judy, this is Peter,” he said, his stomach knotting nervously. “You’re on speaker. MJ’s here too.”

Judy got straight down to business. “The vendor just got back to me, and they accepted your offer. Congratulations.”

MJ let out a quiet little whoop, and Peter felt the tension he’d been carrying all evening suddenly lift as Judy explained what would happen next. The relief was immense – they could start planning for the next stage of their life, create the home that they would be bringing a child into in six months’ time.

Phone call finished, he swept MJ into a hug. “We bought a house,” he grinned against her shoulder. “The baby won’t have to sleep in a drawer.”

MJ laughed at him, stealing a kiss. “The baby was never going to have to sleep in a drawer,” she scoffed, as she pushed an escaped curl behind his ear.

They kissed again, giddy with excitement, and dinner was quickly forgotten as the kisses intensified and their hands began to wander.

***

“Why hasn’t he called yet?” Peter said, staring at his laptop.

MJ handed him a mug of tea and sat next to him, kicking her feet up to rest on the coffee table. “We got the delivery notification less than ten minutes ago, give him a chance.” As she spoke, Skype began to chime with an incoming call, and Peter hit accept.

Ned’s face beamed at them from 3000 miles away. “Hey! So I just had a delivery and I’m calling you like you asked before opening it. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Peter said, sipping his tea to hide his excitement as Ned pulled the carefully wrapped package out of the mailing box, setting it on the desk in front of his laptop.

“It’s not my birthday, so why are you sending me stuff?” Ned asked, as he carefully peeled back the tape, meticulously rolling it up into a ball and setting it to one side before opening the paper. He opened the card that was on top of the contents, then looked back up at the camera. “What – is this – are you? Is that a _baby_? You’re pregnant?”

“Yup, that’s the twelve-week scan,” MJ said. “I knocked up your best friend, the baby is due November 18th. Take a look at the shirt.”

He did as he was told, shaking it out and holding it against his chest. “’Promoted to Uncle’,” he read out loud, his voice wobbly with emotion. “I’m Uncle Ned?”

Peter laughed. “Of course you are. You’re my brother.” He grinned at his friend. “I miss you, man. I can’t wait until your internship is over and you can come home.”

“Same. I’m so over this internship. It’s been great but I miss New York and you guys. Next month can’t come quick enough.” Ned looked at the scan picture again, his expression soft. “I can’t believe you’re going to be parents, this is crazy. Peter, you’re _pregnant. _I knew you were lying when you told me you didn’t lay eggs.”

MJ spluttered as Peter glared at his friend. “I don’t lay eggs, Ned.”

“You had _sex_,” Ned gasped in sudden realization, pointing at Peter. “You had sex in a different body and you didn’t tell me about it.”

“I don’t tell you about it when I have sex in my own body, dude.” Peter screwed his face up in distaste.

“Fair point,” Ned allowed. “So have you had any weird cravings? Can you feel the baby kick yet? I know literally nothing about pregnancy, I have to go read a book or something.”

“I love you,” Peter told him.

“Aaaw, same,” Ned grinned at him. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, I have a thing in an hour, but I’ll call you tomorrow. But before I go, the baby is going to be called Luke or Leia, right?”

“Bye Ned,” MJ said, disconnecting the call and turning to frown at Peter. “No. This baby is not having a Star Wars name, you got that?”

“Got it,” Peter confirmed. “No Star Wars names.” He paused for a moment. “How about Star Trek?”

MJ’s glare was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been exactly four months since I last updated. The first half of this chapter was written the day I posted chapter 14, and then - well, you all know what's been happening in the world the last few months. I got epic writers block, which I chipped away at with a couple of one shots, and made achingly slow progress on this chapter, but it's finally finished.
> 
> I'm sorry this was left for so long, but I fully intend to update much faster for the next chapter! I'm not going to commit to a time-frame, but it definitely won't be another four months before chapter 16 arrives.


	16. Stabbing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needs new clothes, and MJ celebrates her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to [iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannmeiarrannme) for the beta!

Peter lay flat on the bed, sucking his stomach in as much as he could, but the fly of his jeans still gaped open, leaving an exposed strip of rounded belly.

He let his arms drop heavily to the mattress and looked over at MJ, curled up in a chair reading. “Nothing fits,” he moaned, lifting his hips and kicking the jeans off to join the discarded pile of clothing on the floor. “The last pair of leggings is in the laundry.”

She marked her page and dropped on to the bed next to him. “I think it’s time to go shopping for maternity clothes,” she said, resting her hand on his stomach. “You’re not going to be able to hide this much longer.”

He trailed his fingers back and forth across her knuckles. “I bet Tony would make me some nanotech clothing that expands as I get bigger.”

“You’re not getting Tony to make a million-dollar nanotech outfit for you just because you hate clothes shopping,” MJ laughed, squirming around to lean on her folded arms and resting her cheek on his bump. “We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. We can just go to one store and get everything you need.” She pressed a kiss to his stomach, raising goosebumps.

“OK,” he grumbled, slipping his fingers into her hair and idly playing with a loose curl. “It’s not the most exciting birthday for you, though.”

“I’m spending it with you, that’s all I need.” She smiled widely at him, and he melted, caressing her face.

“You’re cute,” he said fondly. “Now go find me something to wear, I can’t go out in just a t-shirt. Please?”

An hour later, wearing a strappy, stretchy maxi-dress pulled out of a moving box, Peter was following MJ around the maternity section of Old Navy, basking in the air conditioning that was a welcome relief from the heatwave blanketing the city.

The clothing was mostly floral or cutesy, which didn’t appeal to either of them. Peter had no intention of wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Snacking for two’.

“Is it too much to ask that they just have plain shirts?” MJ griped, draping multiple pairs of jeans over her arm.

Peter grabbed some pants and blouses from a rack, figuring he’d need at least a couple of dressier items. “It’s fine, I’ll just wear my shirts open over tanks,” he said, grabbing a few in assorted colors and adding them to the pile of clothing.

MJ steered him in the direction of the fitting rooms and he reluctantly stood in line. He hated trying on clothes and usually just grabbed his size knowing they’d fit, but he’d spent enough time in MJ’s body to know that women’s clothing was inconsistently sized.

“How many months are you, sweetie?”

“Huh?” he looked up from his phone to find the woman in front of him smiling. “Oh. Four months.”

She reached out and fanned both of her hands across his stomach. He stiffened at the uninvited touch. “Oooooh, you’ve got such a cute little bump. Have you felt it kicking yet?”

“I – uh, no. No I haven’t.” He stepped away, bumping into the person behind him as he lifted the basket up to cover his stomach. “Hey look, there’s a cubicle free, you’d better go.”

Without waiting for a response, he left the line and found MJ by the checkout. “I’m just going to buy these so we can leave. I’ll try them on at home.”

MJ just nodded, sensing something was wrong, and took the basket from his hands. “Why don’t you go sit down outside and I’ll get these.”

He waited for her on a bench opposite the store, hunched protectively over his belly, and only straightened up when he saw her walking towards him. She sat down and immediately pulled him into a hug. “What happened?”

He leaned into her, their heads touching. “A woman in line touched my stomach without asking. It’s nothing, it just weirded me out.”

“It’s not nothing. Next time someone tries that shit, reach out and rub their belly like they’re Buddha, see how they like it. And if you ever don’t want me to touch your stomach, tell me. Your bodily autonomy hasn’t disappeared just because you’re pregnant.”

He pointedly took her hand and placed it against his stomach. “No, I like you touching it. It’s our baby and your body, even if you’re not in it right now. I just didn’t expect to get so freaked out over someone else doing it.”

MJ took his hand in hers and stood, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go home and make the most of our day off.”

“I want ice cream first.” The Cold Stone Creamery sign glowed in the near distance and he suddenly, desperately, wanted ice cream, to the point that he couldn’t think of anything else, practically dragging MJ across the mall to get there as quickly as possible.

MJ watched him order mint ice cream with pineapple and peanut butter mix-ins, and her mouth quirked in disgust. “That’s gross,” she said. “Are you having a craving?”

He started eating the ice cream as soon as it was handed over. “I think so?” he mumbled around the spoon. “I can’t explain it, I just knew I wanted those three flavors together.”

MJ accepted her own tub of cookie dough and fudge. “You disgust me.”

He hummed happily around a mouthful of ice cream, letting it melt over his tongue, every bite salty, sweet and tangy. “This is such a boring craving though. I wanted to be one of those people who craves, like, chalk, or sponges. I can’t even be sure this _is_ a craving, I might just want ice cream because it’s hot out.”

They walked slowly to the subway, making the most of the air conditioning. The humidity was cloying, and Peter was sweating within seconds of leaving the mall. “When we get home, I’m turning on the AC and standing naked directly in front of it,” he told MJ, as they descended the stairs to the station.

“Not if I get there first,” MJ said, following him through the ticket gate.

Miraculously, the train was waiting at the platform and the doors closed behind them as soon as they boarded. At midday on a Monday the car was half empty, and Peter dropped gratefully into an empty seat. MJ stood, using her borrowed powers to stick to the floor, completely steady even as the train swayed.

By the time they arrived home, Peter was exhausted enough to take the crappy elevator. The minute he walked into the apartment, he kicked off his sandals and dropped onto the couch, too tired to lift his legs up onto the cushions. “Bleh.”

MJ took pity on him, swinging his feet onto the couch. “Have a nap,” she advised, cranking the AC up. “I’m going to text everyone to come here tonight, so you don’t have to deal with travelling into the city.”

He was tired enough that he didn’t point out the challenge of squeezing six additional people into their postage stamp-sized apartment. “Sorry,” he mumbled, already half-asleep. “Dunno why I’m so beat.” He yawned, turning on to his left side. A sudden pain shot through his lower abdomen down into his right groin, and he yelped, pressing his hand against the dull throbbing ache that remained. “Ow, fuck,” he groaned.

“Peter?” MJ dropped to her knees next to him, her face tight with concern.

He cautiously shifted so his hips were aligned, relieved when the shooting pain didn’t return. “I’m fine. I think it’s that ligament pain thing Doctor Wu mentioned. I didn’t expect it to hurt like that.”

He took the Tylenol MJ gave him, then pressed the heat pad she’d fetched against the sore spot. The AC had cooled things down enough that the heat was soothing, and he felt the tightness in his belly begin to relax. “Thanks, Em,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in a comfortable doze, vaguely aware of MJ quietly moving around the apartment. He felt guilty that she was having to arrange things for her own birthday get-together, but he was completely sapped of energy.

He stirred to full consciousness around six, when his bladder made it clear that it needed emptying immediately or he’d suffer the consequences. He stood slowly and shuffled blearily to the bathroom and back, grumbling to himself.

MJ came out of the bedroom, casually but smartly dressed in dark, fitted jeans and a black button down, the tails left untucked. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” he assured her.

She pulled him into a protracted hug, and he relaxed into her embrace. “Why don’t you go shower and change,” she said, when they finally broke apart. “Everyone will be here at seven, and I ordered from Seva for seven-thirty.”

The shower chased away the residual tiredness, and Peter pulled on linen pants and a tank from the pile of new clothing. The wide elastic waistband sat under the emerging bump and it was far comfier than the too-tight leggings he’d been squeezing into the last few weeks.

He headed back to the living room to find that May and Happy had arrived. May’s eyes widened when she saw him. “Look at you!” she exclaimed.

He looked down at himself and placed a hand at the top of his belly. The fitted clothing emphasized the swell of his stomach, and there was no mistaking the fact that he was pregnant. “No hiding it now, huh?” he said, greeting his aunt and Happy with a hug.

“You look amazing, baby. Another couple weeks, and you’ll be half-way through and feeling kicks.”

He squeezed into the chair next to MJ, resting his thigh on hers so they would both fit, and she gently massaged the back of his neck.

The entry buzzer announced Tony, Pepper and Morgan, who proudly set the gifts she carried on the coffee table. She draped herself backwards over the chair arm, flopping her upper body into MJ’s lap. “Happy birthday, MJ,” she said, poking MJ in the cheek and giggling when MJ mock-growled at her.

“Thanks, Mo,” MJ told her, before dragging her completely over the arm of the chair and positioning her across both of their laps. Morgan’s giggles turned to shrieks of laughter.

Ned and the food arrived at the same time. Tony raced MJ to the door to tip the delivery driver and beat her, much to her visible annoyance, though her frown turned into a smile when she saw Tony hand over a hundred-dollar bill. Ned rolled his eyes at their bickering and slipped past them to greet everyone, taking a seat on the floor at Peter’s feet.

The food disappeared quickly. Peter looked on longingly as he took some rice, three small pieces of chicken tikka, and a little paneer makhani with a quarter of a plain naan. He’d usually demolish a lamb vindaloo with a pile of samosa and pakora, plus a whole garlic naan, but he was wary of triggering morning sickness or heartburn.

MJ cleared her heaped plate in record time and went back for seconds, long past being self-conscious about the amount of food she had to eat to fuel Peter’s body. “This is so good,” she moaned through a mouthful of aloo gobi.

Peter felt the familiar nausea stirring and pushed the tiny portion of chicken and paneer onto MJ’s plate, deciding to stick with rice and naan. Hoping the carbs would settle his stomach, he added Indian food to the list of things he couldn’t eat.

MJ noticed his discomfort, setting her plate aside. “I’ll get you some ginger tea,” she whispered.

“It’s OK, I’ll get it,” he told her, pushing up out of the chair and stepping over Morgan, who’d relocated to the floor next to Ned and was happily scooping up tikka masala with her naan.

He rummaged through the cupboard, but only found the orange spice teabags, which he didn’t like. “We’re out of tea,” he said, as MJ brought in a stack of empty plates.

“I’ll get some,” she said, grabbing her wallet from the breakfast bar and slipping it into her back pocket. She was gone before he had time to protest, snagging a hoodie as she left.

He braced his arms against the sink and let his head drop, closing his eyes and breathing through the queasiness. The smell of the left-over food made him dry heave and he clapped his hand to his mouth, determined that he wasn’t going to puke up the small amount he’d managed to eat.

May pressed a gentle hand to the small of his back. “Can I get you anything, sweetie?”

He shook his head, before the nausea suddenly increased and he fled for the bathroom, followed by May. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet just in time. He tried to keep his retching quiet, mindful of everyone just a few feet away in the living room.

“Sorry,” he croaked, flushing the toilet and getting to his feet to rinse his mouth out.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” May said, using a cool, damp washcloth to wipe the sweat from his face. “I guess the Indian food was too much, huh?”

“Morning sickness sucks,” he said, as she hugged him. “I keep thinking it’s going away and then the smallest thing sets me off.”

May stepped back and fussed with his hair, pushing back the strands that stuck to his damp cheeks. “C’mon baby, MJ should be back soon with your tea.”

When they got back to the living room, the remaining food had all been cleared away and Tony was washing the dishes, wearing a pair of purple household gloves and bickering with Happy, who was drying. “How you doing, kid?”

Peter rocked his hand back and forth. “Meh. I can’t wait until I can eat something other than starchy carbs. I mean, they’re the superior food group, but it gets old after a while.”

The retching had aggravated the ligament pain from earlier that day, so Peter put his feet up, tucking the towel-wrapped heat pad under his belly.

Morgan watched with big, curious eyes. “Why does your tummy hurt?” she asked. She’d been fascinated with pregnancy ever since hearing about the baby, and Pepper and Tony had told him he could be honest with her.

“It’s just the baby growing. Everything’s getting stretched so they have enough room. And it doesn’t hurt all the time, only if I move too fast, and then it’s a just a sharp stabbing pain that goes really quickly.”

She screwed up her face. “I don’t think I ever want to be pregnant.”

“That’s fine. You’re ten, you don’t have to worry about that right now,” Pepper said, patting the empty seat next to her, and tucking Morgan in against her side when she sat down. “When I was pregnant with you, I used to rest my tea on my belly, and you’d kick like you were telling me it was too hot. And by the time you were ready to be born, your hands and feet would make little bumps, and my whole belly would move when you did. I was uncomfortable sometimes, but I loved being pregnant.”

Morgan didn’t look convinced, but Peter was spared any more questions by the return of MJ.

She frowned when she saw Peter. “Were you sick?” she asked, dropping two boxes of tea on the countertop. She looked clammy and pale, and had her arm tucked against her side.

“I’m fine. But you’re clearly not.” He pushed himself up out of the chair and went to her side, shifting her arm out of the way and revealing a palm-sized bloodstain on her t-shirt, just above her hip. “What the Hell, Em? Is that a stab wound?” As soon as he said ‘stab’, Pepper ushered Morgan from the room.

“If I say yes, are you going to freak out?” MJ said, as Peter made her sit down. “Because technically, it’s more of a slash than a stab.”

“You’ve been gone for less than thirty minutes, how did you manage to get stabbed?” He pushed her t-shirt up out of the way to expose a three-inch long gash on her side. It was shallow, but steadily weeping beads of blood. “Hey Tony, pass me the first aid kit? It’s under the sink.” Tony slid the kit over the counter, and Peter set to work cleaning MJ’s wound.

“I heard a woman screaming and went to help. I had the wrist shooters on, so I just pulled my hood tight around my face, but the guy took a swing at me before I finished webbing him up. I barely even felt it.”

Peter carefully applied steri-strips to the wound, then taped a soft dressing in place. “Is the woman OK?”

“A little shaken, but I walked her to the police station a block over and waited until she went inside.” MJ pulled her t-shirt back down. “Thanks for patching me up.”

He stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the trash with the used first aid supplies. “You’ve done it for me enough times,” he said, returning the medical kit to its home under the sink and washing his hands.

“Wow, you two really are a pair of dumbasses,” Tony commented. He was leaning back against the countertop, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “You were made for one another, truly.”

MJ ignored Tony and leaned in to kiss Peter’s cheek. “I’m going to change and then I want a piece of the surprise cake Happy made me.” She looked at the man in question. “Never be a spy, you’re as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. But I appreciate the effort, particularly if it’s a peanut butter cake.”

Peter watched her go, then turned to look at May, Tony and Happy. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for every single time I tried to hide an injury from you, and even though we all know I’m gonna carry on doing that when I get my body back, I’m still sorry.”

“You’re both self-sacrificial idiots,” May said fondly, as she grabbed plates from the cabinet. “I’d say you got that from Tony, but you were like it way before he was on the scene, so for once, it’s not his fault.”

“Hey,” Tony objected, uncovering the cake. It was another Happy work of art, decorated in intricate whorls of soft, caramel-colored frosting, with miniature Reese’s cups set in the center of each sugary swirl. He carefully placed a large sparkler candle in the middle of the cake. “You know I’m a selfish asshole who doesn’t care about other people.”

May looked pointedly at his prosthetic arm, and he grimaced. “Help save the universe _one time_ and people throw it back in your face.” He snapped the fingers of his prosthetic together just as MJ returned with Pepper and Morgan in tow, producing a small flame to light the sparkler and grinning widely.

Peter no longer flinched at Tony’s party trick. He just laughed, recognizing it for what it was – Tony’s way of owning his narrative.

MJ waited for the sparkler to burn itself out then pulled the cake closer to slice it. “Happy, this looks amazing, thank you so much.”

Happy patted her on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re welcome,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

Peter turned down the piece of cake MJ offered, still wary of his unsettled stomach, but he was content to see MJ so relaxed with their weird little found family. Tony had an arm slung around her shoulder, and Morgan was hovering at her side. May and Happy were sharing a couch and piece of cake, and Pepper and Ned were huddled together talking about his ongoing New York job hunt.

MJ noticed him smiling, and her eyes crinkled as she matched his grin. “You look happy,” she said, catching his hand in hers.

“I am,” he said. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”


	17. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ settle into their new home, and May and Monica pay them a visit.

Moving day was far less stressful than Peter had anticipated. Tony insisted on hiring a moving service for their housewarming gift, leaving Peter and MJ little to do other than watch the movers pack their shared life into a truck.

The evening found him making up the bed in their new bedroom, the quiet ritual of smoothing bedsheets and tucking corners oddly soothing. He’d yet to adjust to the way his center of gravity changed with his growing stomach, and he overbalanced when he leaned forward to tuck the sheet under the top of the mattress. Catching himself on the headboard he huffed and knelt on the bed to finish the job.

“Food’s here!” MJ bellowed from the foyer.

“I’ll be right there!” he hollered back as he settled the pillows at the head of the bed. Satisfied that they could at least sleep comfortably that evening, he headed downstairs, still not over the novelty of having two separate floors.

“I’m starving and exhausted, in that order,” he said as he joined MJ in the kitchen, sitting down at the island and clearing himself a space between the boxes of kitchen supplies.

MJ passed over his order of pad see-ew and sticky rice, before enthusiastically digging into her double portion of pad pona karee and drunken noodles. “Same. Let’s eat and go to bed, I want to get up early so I can go buy supplies for the mural before Mom and May come over.”

They ate in comfortable silence, then headed up to bed after making sure all the doors and windows were locked, something that took far longer than it had in their one-entrance apartment. The plan was to eventually link the security system to a modified version of Karen, but Peter was saving that task for parental leave.

Their bedroom felt huge and empty, the double bed dwarfed by the large space. “May was right about us needing a bigger bed,” Peter said, turning onto his side to face MJ.

She stacked her pillows and leaned back, picking up her book from the bedside table. “We don’t need a bigger bed, this one is fine,” she said, as she flipped through the book to find where she’d left off reading. “And a bigger bed would mean sleeping further away from you.”

“Aaaw,” he grinned, prodding at her leg with his toes. “You do love me.”

“I _tolerate_ you,” she corrected, catching his lips in a quick kiss before turning her attention back to the book.

He shuffled closer and settled against her shoulder, propping his phone on his stomach and scrolling one-handed through the various messages wishing them luck with the move. “Hey Em, smile.” He took a quick selfie to send to May, cheesing at the camera as MJ stubbornly kept her eyes on her book, though a faint smile played about her lips.

“Tell May I said hi,” she said, turning a page.

Peter texted with his aunt for a few minutes, catching her up on their day, before setting his phone on the charger and sighing, linking his hands over his stomach. The Thai food seemingly hadn’t agreed with him – he felt a little gassy, like a bubble was trapped in his abdomen, and no amount of shifting around relieved it.

MJ noticed him fidgeting. “You OK?”

He was about to nod, when the bubble became more of a popping sensation, like popcorn swelling in a pan, and he realized what he was feeling. “Em – I think I just felt the baby kick.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his belly, pushing down over the little thumps happening inside him. “There – can you feel it?” The movement shifted and he moved her hand to follow it.

She shook her head, looking disappointed. “Nothing. Is it still moving?”

He laughed as the baby seemingly tumbled within him. “Oh yeah, it’s moving alright. Wide awake and having a party.”

MJ bit her lip, her gaze downcast and forlorn. “It must feel so strange.”

“Strange, but amazing.” He tapped the top of his belly as inspiration struck. “Why don’t you try listening? I could hear heartbeats if I concentrated hard enough, I bet you’ll be able to do the same thing.”

MJ squirmed around until she could place her ear to his stomach, cupping the side of his belly with her hand. He kept as still and quiet as possible, letting her focus.

She suddenly stiffened. “I can hear it!” she whispered joyfully. “Oh my God, that’s our baby.”

He played lazily with her hair, letting her take as much time as she liked. “What does it sound like?”

She sat up and wiped at the tears on her face, keeping her hand pressed against his abdomen. “It has a really fast heartbeat, like a hummingbird. And I think it has its fingers in its mouth, I can hear it sucking.”

He noted her use of ‘can’. “Can you still hear it, even when you’re not up against my belly?” he asked.

“Yeah. Now I know what I’m listening for, I think I’ll be able to hear it whenever I want.” She caressed his stomach, her eyes sparkling with the tears she was obviously struggling to hold back. “If I can’t feel it kick yet, then this is the next best thing.”

He was happy she had something that was solely hers – he was able to feel the baby move, but only she could hear their child whenever she wanted, listen to it suck its thumb and hear the flutter of its heart.

“Why don’t you read to it?” he said, tugging a pillow out from behind him and placing it across his thighs, patting it invitingly.

MJ looked doubtfully at her book. “I’m not sure the baby wants to listen to me read _The Voting Rights War_.”

“The baby doesn’t care what you’re saying, but it can get to know your voice. Or my voice, I guess.”

MJ stretched out on her back, positioning her head so her mouth was right next to his belly. “I feel ridiculous,” she said, flipping the book back to the page she’d marked.

Peter yawned, tucking an arm under his pillow and closing his eyes. “If it makes you feel better, I’m about thirty seconds away from knocking out, so it’ll be just you and Pickle.”

MJ began to read, her voice soft and pitched low. Peter let the sound wash over him, until it faded into the background like a comforting hum of white noise that lulled him off to sleep.

***

MJ stood by the front window looking out onto the street, her arms tightly crossed and her spine rigid. Her right foot tapped continuously, a nervous habit that had transferred from her own body to Peter’s.

“Has she been like this all morning?” May whispered, folding down the cardboard box she’d just emptied.

“Pretty much,” Peter replied, as he found spaces for the kitchen equipment May had unboxed. “I made her go for a run to burn off some nervous energy, but it didn’t work.” He picked up a ladle shaped like a diplodocus and pointed it at May. “Should we get rid of Nessie? I feel like we’re too grown up for novelty kitchenware now. Maybe we should get new stuff from Williams Sonoma or something, instead of Wish.”

“Oh honey, the fact you used the phrase ‘grown up’ tells me you’re not ready to get rid of Nessie,” she said, taking the ladle from him and placing it in the utensil drawer with a fond pat on its little turquoise head. “Seems like you’ve got some nervous energy of your own, kiddo.”

He huffed, retrieving Bessie and Jessie from the pile of utensils and nesting them with Nessie. May was right on both counts – he wasn’t ready to get rid of Nessie and co, and he was on his last nerve. “This is just a really big thing for Em, you know? And I’ve somehow got to figure out how to act like her and build a relationship with her mom, and –” He looked down at the contents of the drawer. “I don’t know if I can do it without messing up.”

May cupped his face and gently tilted it, encouraging him to meet her gaze. “Sweetheart, don’t overthink it. As far as Monica’s concerned, you’re her daughter, and she has no reason to suspect otherwise. MJ and I are going to be right here with you.”

“I guess,” he sighed. “Thanks, May.” He felt the baby shift inside him, and he pressed his hand over the location of the soft movements. “Someone just woke up,” he laughed, following the little nudges as they moved across his stomach. He couldn’t feel the kicks externally, but the baby seemed to react to the pressure of his hand, its movement increasing.

His aunt watched him with a soft smile on her face. “You seem to be dealing really well with the pregnancy, are you enjoying it?”

The baby settled and Peter moved his hand to the small of his back, arching to relieve some of the tightness there. “I could do without the throwing up and the indigestion. But now I can feel the baby move, yeah, I guess I am enjoying most of it. It’s weird knowing there’s a whole other person growing inside me, but it’s amazing at the same time.”

“Look at us, kid. It was just me and you against the world for the longest time, and now we’ve got this weird, amazing family and a baby Parker-Jones on the way.” May began KonMari-ing kitchen towels, folding them into neat little rectangles. “Do you remember how baby crazy Ben was? And babies adored him right back. A great big bear of a man like that, babies should have been terrified, but I never saw anyone settle an upset baby faster than Ben. I used to joke I should let him work his magic up in NICU.”

“I remember,” Peter said softly, smiling at the memories of his big, gruff-looking uncle turning to absolute mush around babies. “If Ben were here now, MJ and I would never get a chance to see our own baby because he’d kidnap them whenever he could.”

May smiled as she stood the kitchen towels in neat little rows in the drawer. “You sounded so much like your dad just then,” she said. “From the minute you were born, you and Ben imprinted on one another like a pair of goofy curly haired ducks. The minute he’d walk into a room and speak in that big, booming voice of his, you wouldn’t look at anyone else. Your dad used to complain that you liked Ben more than you liked him.”

Peter remembered very little about his parents, had no mental image of them that wasn’t formed from photos or blurry video shot on Mini DV tapes. May didn’t talk about Richard and Mary all that often – Mary had been one of her best friends, and the two of them had fallen in love with brothers. Losing them had been painful on multiple levels for May, so when she did talk about them, he soaked it up like a sponge. “Can you imagine my mom and dad as grandparents?”

“Oh yeah. You know how small the Parker and Fitzpatrick families were, and your parents wanted four kids. They knew there wouldn’t be any cousins unless Ben and I adopted, and they didn’t want you to grow up an only child.” She closed the drawer she’d filled. “Mary would be the kind of Grandma to fill her grandbaby full of sugar before sending them back home. And Richard – well, he was a big softie, just like your uncle. Parker men are absolute pushovers when it comes to kids, so you’d better be prepared.”

They were interrupted by MJ turning from the window. “Mom’s here,” she hissed. “What do I do?”

“Answer the door?” Peter said, washing the moving box grime off his hands and then starting a pot of coffee. MJ flinched when the doorbell rang, and looked desperately at him. “It’s OK. Let her in,” he urged.

She fussed nervously with her hair, then squared her shoulders and answered the door, standing aside to let her mom walk in. “Hi M-Monica. Can I get you anything? MJ just started some coffee.”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.” Monica handed MJ a gift bag. “Just a small housewarming gift. The receipt’s in the bag if you don’t like it.” She turned to Peter, looking him up and down. “You look better than the last time I saw you, Mimi.”

Peter greeted her with a hug. “I am. I’m tired a lot of the time, but I guess that’s normal. How did your move go?”

“I’ll let you know when the truck turns up,” Monica said, taking a seat at the island. She looked nervous, rolling the pendant of her necklace between her fingertips. “I’m glad I decided to buy a new bed, otherwise I’d be sleeping on the floor for the next week.”

May held out a hand out for Monica to shake. “Hi, I’m May, Peter’s aunt. I’ve been dying to meet you so we can bond over our kids and make plans to spoil our grandbaby.”

“Monica. Michelle thinks the world of you.” She echoed May’s smile, her restless fingers quieting.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual. I think I prefer her to Peter.” May winked at Peter and MJ.

He managed to bite back his automatic ‘hey’ just as MJ said it for him, making May laugh. “You know I don’t mean it, baby,” she said, bringing the coffee pot over to the island.

MJ replied with a very authentic sounding grumble as she set out coffee cups. “Yeah yeah. We all know you’re going to love this baby more than both of us put together.” She shook a box of tea in Peter’s direction and he gave her a thumbs up, though he was slightly worried he was becoming dependent on ginger tea.

May smiled sweetly at her. “Of course I will hon, it’s not going to answer me back for at least the first three years.” She poured coffee for everyone other than Peter, then pulled a Bonelle’s pastry box from her bag. “Monica, I wasn’t sure what you like, so I just told them to throw in their most popular pastries. The cheese Danish is my favorite, but Peter and MJ love the apple turnovers.” She plated up some turnovers and passed them across the island to them, then drew Monica into conversation.

Peter had inherited his mom’s ears, his dad’s hair, and Ben’s love of Star Wars, but his gift of gab was 100% May Parker. Unfortunately, it only manifested when he was Spider-Man, so he just sat and watched in awe as May put Monica at ease.

“Hey, Mom, do you want a tour of the place?” Peter asked, when he saw that Monica had finished her cinnamon roll. “We still have boxes everywhere, so you’ll have to excuse the mess.”

Monica wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Sure. May, Peter, are you joining us?”

“You go ahead,” May said. “Peter and I are going to carry on unpacking the kitchen. I got to see everything when the kids first viewed the house.”

Peter led Monica upstairs and into the baby’s room, which was empty but for the painting supplies MJ had picked up earlier. She’d already covered the hardwood floor, and the walls were masked-off ready for painting, with a hand-drawn sketch of the design taped to the window.

“This going to be the baby’s room. That door leads right through to our bedroom, so we’ll be able to leave it open at night.”

“It’s not going to sleep in with you?” Monica asked, as she studied MJ’s sketch. “You didn’t sleep in your own room until you were one.”

He took a breath, trying not to react to her blunt tone. “I’m planning on breast feeding as much as I can, so we’ll have a crib in our room until they’re sleeping through the night. But we wanted to get the room ready for when the baby is asleep during the day.”

Monica apparently approved because she brushed her fingers over the illustration and abruptly changed the subject. “You drew this?” she queried, looking at him for confirmation, and he nodded. “I forgot how talented you are.”

He still wasn’t comfortable receiving praise intended for MJ, so he just smiled, looking at the sketch with her. “We decided to go with a night sky because we thought it would be relaxing, and we didn’t want something the baby would grow out of too quickly. We won’t paint the stars until the baby is here, it’s going to be a star map of the day they’re born.”

“Cute idea,” Monica said, trailing her fingers along the walls, and looking so like MJ for a moment that Peter could see the girl she used to be.

“Peter and Tony have bought like five different shades of glow in the dark paint,” Peter told her. “It should look really cool when it’s finished.”

“Tony, as in Tony Stark? Peter’s boss?” She turned to look at him. “You’re on first name terms with Iron Man?”

“Peter’s known him since he was fourteen. Tony’s – well, he’s kind of a father figure to Peter. He mentored him through a really difficult time in his life, and now they’re like family.”

“But – he’s _Tony Stark. _He saved the universe.”

“Trust me, the shine will wear off pretty quickly when you meet him. He’s a cardigan-wearing dad who makes lame jokes and terrorizes the PTA meetings at his kid’s school.”

“I’m going to meet Tony Stark?” Monica said weakly, pressing her hand to her chest.

“He’s basically this baby’s grandfather, so yeah.” Peter squinted at her as her reaction suddenly made sense. “Do you have a – a _crush_ on him?”

“Who doesn’t?” she exclaimed. “You know I’ve never been able to resist a smooth-talker, Mimi, and Tony Stark is as smooth as they come. And don’t get me started on James Rhodes.”

Peter gaped at her, pretty sure he’d died at least twice during their conversation. “I - he’s _Tony_. And Rhodey is – well yeah, he’s obviously attractive, and he’s a superhero and the Vice-President, but I’ve literally seen him catching Cheetos in his mouth.” He felt it best not to mention that Rhodey had been wasted at the time, wearing nothing but his shorts, and watching eighteen-year-old Peter knock back beer after beer in an fruitless experiment to determine if he could get drunk.

“I’m just appreciating nature, baby girl. There’s nothing wrong with looking.” Monica laughed at his disgusted face as he led her through to the master bedroom. She looked out at the neatly manicured yard, and Peter felt her mood change as her posture slumped. “This is a beautiful house,” she said. “I wish I could have given you a home like this when you were growing up.”

He stood next to her and took her hand. “Mom, you raised me all on your own, and you busted your ass working whatever jobs you could find to make sure I had a roof over my head and everything I needed.”

“Except you didn’t have me,” she said, her fingers twitching within his. “You had to grow up too soon. You took care of the chores, cooked for me when I came home late. That’s a mother’s job, not a child’s.” She kept her gaze focused outside, and Peter heard her swallow as she fought back tears.

“You were seventeen when you had me, Mom. You were still a kid yourself, and you somehow got your GED and still took care of me. You got your degree in night school and still worked two jobs. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. This baby isn’t even here yet and I’d do anything to keep it safe.”

“I just missed so much of you growing up. Then you were taken away from me for five years and I cried for you every single night you were gone, but I still ran clear across the country the minute you went to college.” Monica brushed a tear away from her cheek and took a shuddering breath. “And now you’re this amazing, grown woman with a boyfriend who adores you and a baby on the way, and you’ve made more of your life than I ever have. I pushed away any man who tried to get close, and now I’ve got nothing.”

Peter held her and let her cry. “You have me,” he said quietly. “Me, and Peter and this baby.”

Monica stepped back and covered her face with her hands. “I just feel like my life is over,” she admitted, her voice muffled against her palms.

Peter gently pulled her hands down. “Hey, Rhodey’s single. Maybe I can ask Tony to set the two of you up.”

That got a laugh out of her, and she patted the pads of her fingers across her cheeks. “I don’t think DC is ready for Monica Jordan,” she said, once she was satisfied any evidence of her tears was gone. “But I’ll take a rain check.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he told her. “Hey, once we’ve finished the tour why don’t you go out for a walk with Peter, get to know him a little better? I really think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.” MJ was going to give him hell for suggesting it, but he wanted her to start mending her own bridges with her mom, rather than by proxy through Peter, and he thought she had a better chance of doing that if it was just the two of them on their own for a while.

“I know he’s a good man, Mimi. You couldn’t talk about anyone else once you realized you loved him, and I can see he adores you. And you can’t get any more trustworthy than Spider-Man.”

Peter was sure his heart skipped a couple of beats. “What?” he chuckled nervously, his voice thin and strained.

“Washington, homecoming night, London? ‘Night Monkey’ showing up in Prague and using all the same moves as Spider-Man? All these places he just happened to show up at the same time as you and your AcaDec team? I was only 92% certain until you started casually name-dropping Tony Stark and then I knew for sure.”

Peter blinked mutely at her for several long seconds. “Holy shit, that’s where Em – I get it from.”

She looked at him quizzically as he started to laugh, waiting for him to elaborate with one eyebrow raised.

“When I guessed that Peter was Spider-Man, I told him I’d only been 67% certain,” he explained once he was calm enough to talk. “How long have you suspected?”

“Since Prague. And I’m right? He’s Spider-Man?”

“He’s Spider-Man,” Peter confirmed. There was no point lying about it now – the secret was out and there was no taking it back. “I guess there’s no need for me to say you can’t tell anyone. You’ve known this long, if you were going to say anything, you would have already.”

“It won’t go any further,” she assured him. “I’m sorry, it should have been his decision to tell me, rather than me dropping it on you like that.”

Peter waved her concerns away. “Honestly, it’s fine. Why didn’t you tell me you knew before now?”

“It just never seemed like the right time. It’s not the kind of thing you’d bring up during a phone call, and it’s been so long since I visited.”

“I guess so. But don’t let on to him that you know just yet, OK? I’ll tell him later.”

“Sure, baby,” Monica said. “You have the support you need, right? When he gets hurt? It can’t be easy watching him put himself in danger all the time.”

“Oh yeah. May’s great, and so are Tony and Pepper. Peter has his own bed in Tony’s medbay in the city and upstate. But I’d like to be able to talk to you about it sometimes, if you’re OK with that?” He was glad that Monica knew; he was acutely aware that MJ didn’t have anyone other than May, Ned, Tony or Pepper to talk to about Spider-Man, and all four were too emotionally involved to be objective where Peter was concerned. MJ needed someone she could go to and cry or rant, rather than trying to stay strong for the sake of everyone else.

Monica caught hold of his upper arms and affectionately rubbed them, finishing with a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me.”

They embraced again, and Peter could feel how fiercely Monica loved her daughter in the way her hands clutched at him like she couldn’t hold him close enough, and how her hand came up to rest on the back of his head.

“You amaze me, Mimi,” she said. “I know I messed up, but I must have done something right, because you turned out like this. I don’t say it enough, but I love you.”

“Love you too.” He smiled as she kissed his cheek. “Let’s go find Peter, and you can go on that walk.”

***

Peter stepped back and cast a critical eye over the section of wall he’d just finished painting. “Does it look patchy to you?” he asked MJ, shoving wisps of hair out of his face with his wrist, the only part of his hands not covered in splotches of midnight blue.

MJ was laying prone on the ceiling, carefully cutting in paint at the junction of wall and ceiling. “It looks fine for a base coat,” she said, looking down over her shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’ve never painted a wall before.”

“We never had a landlord that let us,” he said, loading his roller with paint and moving on to the next section of wall. Struck with sudden mischief, he looked up at MJ. “Hey Em, guess what?”

“What?” She knelt, still suspended upside down, her face on a level with his.

“Your mom guessed I’m Spider-Man.”

MJ dropped suddenly and involuntarily from the ceiling, landing in an awkward half-crouch as she tried to gather her composure. “How?” she spluttered. “Peter, I never told her anything, I swear.”

“She guessed after Prague. She said, and I quote, she was only ‘92% certain’ until I referred to Tony by his first name. It was like listening to you in Venice.”

“She’s known for seven years?” MJ set her brush in a jar of white spirit. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She just never found the right time. But it’s fine, I’m glad she knows, and it’ll be good for you to have her to talk to about things, especially now she’s back in Queens.”

“She seems – different, somehow. Softer. On our walk earlier, she told me she thinks we’re good together, and that you’ll be a good dad and husband, because you only have eyes for me whenever I’m in the room, and it’s obvious you love me.”

“She’s right,” Peter said. “I love so many people in my life, but you and our baby will always be the center of my universe.”

MJ, still on her knees, shuffled closer until she could wrap her arms around his middle, pressing the side of her face against his stomach. They held that position for a long moment, Peter stroking his fingers across the hair at her temple and down behind her ear.

“You were right about the Parker charm,” she commented, glancing up at him over the crest of his belly, her chin resting just above his navel. “She seems to like you now.”

“That’s all you. She’ll go back to hating me when we swap back to our own bodies.” He took her hand and encouraged her to her feet. “Oh, and I found out your mom thinks Tony is cute. Something about her liking smooth-talkers.”

“That makes two of us,” MJ grinned, looping her arms around his neck as he linked his hands at the small of her back.

“You think I’m a smooth talker?” he smirked, the two of them swaying to the music playing quietly on MJ’s phone.

“I take it back. You’re about as smooth as sandpaper, Parker. And my mom has the worst taste in men.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not, she said she’d take a rain check on a blind date with Rhodey.”

“Well, I’d leave you for Rhodey, so that’s understandable.”

“And you’d have my blessing,” Peter said solemnly, fighting to keep his voice serious.

“On second thoughts, I think I’ll keep you,” MJ said, when she’d stopped laughing. “Rhodey’s probably going to be President at some point and being FLOTUS doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather be – “

“POTUS,” they chorused.

“I’m happy to be your FGOTUS,” Peter said. “First Gentleman by day, Spider-Man by night. Though I’d have to cross the Potomac to get my swing on, DC doesn’t have tall enough buildings.”

MJ snorted. “I love you, you gigantic loser.”

He smirked. “I know.”

“Keep quoting _Star Wars_ and I’ll change my mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the beta, iarrannme! <3
> 
> The comment about Tony terrorising the PTA was mostly a tip of the hat to hailingstars wonderful series [tony stark: pta parent extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631578). If you haven't read it, you should check it out!


	18. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ has a scuffle with her latest Nemesis of the Week; Peter and MJ host an AcaDec reunion.

“Whose idea was it to have the AcaDec reunion here?” Peter complained as he cleaned the kitchen floor, making vicious little jabs with the mop. “And why did we buy such a big house, all we do is clean.” He roughly shoved the mop back into the bucket and water sloshed over his bare feet. “Shit!”

“You done?” MJ said mildly, spreading refried beans in the bottom of a serving dish.

“Yes,” he snapped, before softening his tone at the sight of MJ’s arched brow. “Sorry.” He emptied and rinsed the bucket in the sink before holding on to the counter with one hand and drying his damp feet with a handful of paper towel.

“Are you stressed out because of tonight? I know it’s not great timing having everyone over on your birthday.” She finished the seven-layer dip with a sprinkle of shredded cheese and slid it into the fridge.

“I woke up in a bad mood and I can’t seem to shake it.” He was frustrated that he couldn’t pinpoint a cause for his moodiness, and everything MJ did or said just seemed to make him worse.

“Right. Go take a nap,” she said, gripping his shoulders and guiding him through to the living room. “Or if you don’t want to sleep, put your feet up and watch something dumb and mindless, but just _stop_ for a while.”

He bit back his toddler-like response of telling her he didn’t _want_ a nap, and instead stretched out on the sofa. She was right – he needed to rest and hopefully reset his mood. “Sorry I’ve been horrible today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

MJ handed him the remote. “You’re pregnant and hormonal, and the baby kept you awake most of the night kicking. I know it’s nothing personal, so give yourself a break.”

He caught at her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I promise I’ll clean up the kitchen when you’ve finished, just leave everything on the side.”

“I can load the dishwasher, Peter. Just relax. I’ll come lie with you when I’m done.”

Following MJ’s advice, he put on a big, loud, thinly-plotted action movie and zoned out.

The movie was almost finished when MJ returned. She squared the ottoman up to the sofa, creating a bed-sized space, and they curled up together, her head on his shoulder and an arm slung around his middle. “This looks dumb,” she said, gesturing at the screen, where a machine-gun toting Dwayne Johnson spun underneath a helicopter, spraying bullets like a homicidal tornado.

“It kind of is, but you know I’m trash for The Rock. Look at him, he’s all buff and heroic.”

“You know actual superheroes. You _are _an actual superhero,” MJ scoffed.

“He’s cooler than every superhero I know, including Scott. Except for Carol, I guess. She defines cool. And King T’Challa, he’s awesome.”

MJ snorted. “You only think Scott’s cool because he let you sleep in his giant hand on a mission, and because he’s another bug-themed superhero.”

“He can control ants, MJ, how is that not cool? And I’m not a bug, I’m an - ”

“Arachnid,” MJ echoed, laughing against his shoulder. “You’re such a loser, Parker.”

He nudged the top of her head with his chin. “But I’m _your _loser.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

The credits rolled, anthemic prog rock playing, and Peter stretched to the side to grab the remote. The baby kicked him harder than he’d felt before, making him huff in not-quite pain. “Ooof, right in the bladder,” he groaned, straightening back up.

The baby kicked again, and he grabbed MJ’s hand. “You’ve got to be able to feel it now,” he told her, prodding his belly to try and make the baby move. He was rewarded with a solid thump and MJ gasped.

“I felt it!” she exclaimed, joy writ clear on her face, her eyes bright with tears and her smile wide.

Peter shuffled until he was stretched out flat and rolled his t-shirt up. His belly rippled in little pulses of movement as the baby seemingly backflipped off his bladder. “God, that’s weird,” he breathed, watching with an almost repulsed fascination as his stomach shifted. “Now I know how Kane felt in _Alien_.”

MJ slapped at his arm, her gaze fixed on his abdomen. “Don’t compare our baby to a slimy little alien,” she said, moving her hand back to touch his stomach.

“At twenty-five weeks, a fetus can kick with eight pounds of force,” Peter said, as the baby did just that. He was a little freaked out – it had been one thing feeling the baby kick, but seeing his stomach move like that was almost too much – and he turned to facts and figures to calm himself down. “Its femurs are around 46mm long.” His voice was strained and felt like it was caught in his throat, alongside his pounding heart.

“Are you freaking out?” MJ asked, meeting his gaze and apparently reading his mind.

“No. Maybe. A little bit.” He held still as MJ tugged his shirt back down, affectionately stroking the bump. She was quiet, knowing that if she didn’t say anything, Peter would continue to narrate his train of thought. “I think it just sunk in that I have an actual human being growing inside me. I mean, obviously I knew that already, but the fact we can actually see it moving? I didn’t expect that, at least not this early.”

MJ snuggled into his side, keeping a hand on his stomach. “You’re allowed to feel weird about it, you know. Your body is already literally not your own, and now you’ve got this to deal with.” She kissed his neck, nuzzling her nose into his hair.

The baby stopped using Peter’s insides for parkour, and he turned his head so MJ’s lips met his instead of his throat. They kissed slow and sweet, their usual fiery passion tamped down to glowing embers. “How do you always know the right thing to say?” Peter asked, as they broke apart.

“That’s _my_ super-power.” MJ leaned in for another kiss, a little more heated, but they were interrupted by her watch chiming with a Spider-Man alert. She sighed against his mouth before pulling away to bring up the report. “I have to go,” she said reluctantly, her bottom lip sticking out in a disappointed pout. “The Owl is perched on the side of the Flatiron building shouting for me to fight him.” She continued reading and her face screwed up in disgust. “And he’s throwing stink pellets at the bystanders.”

“Remember to tell Karen to activate the gas mask,” Peter called after her as she went to suit up. “And ask Owl where Eeyore is!” That earned him a middle finger aimed in his direction and he cackled, picking up his phone to send an FOS alert to Ned asking him if he could arrive early.

***

Ned was there within half an hour, carrying containers full of lumpia and silvanas. “Mom says hi, and she’s sent you a batch of chicken adobo to stock up your freezer,” he said, depositing his armful of food on the island.

“I love your mom,” Peter moaned, cracking the seal on a bagged portion of adobo and breathing in the fragrant scent. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about eating for the past week.” He belatedly realized that he hadn’t greeted Ned properly and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks for coming over, man. MJ’s already heading home.”

“I was watching a live of the fight on my way over. She kicked the Owl’s ass. She must be pissed that he keeps escaping though.”

“I’m working on a new durable webbing solution that should incapacitate him long enough for SHIELD to detain him. He’s been able to slice through every formula so far.”

“You’re super-chill about MJ fighting as Spider-Man,” Ned said, as he layered napkins between plates. “Gotta say I thought you’d be 100% more freaked out about it.”

“Em knows what she’s doing. And most of the time, patrol is pretty low-key. The Owl is her first real repeat offender, and she’s more than held her own against him.” He swiped at his phone to check the tracking app, reassured to see that MJ was well out of the city and heading into Queens on the F line. The fact she’d taken the subway meant she’d probably picked up some minor injuries, but nothing bad enough for her to head to the tower rather than home.

She arrived home fifteen minutes later, the suit stashed in her backpack, and her sweat-soaked tee clinging to her body. Peter couldn’t see many visible injuries – it seemed like she’d escaped the confrontation mostly unscathed.

“Go shower, you stink,” he mock complained as she pulled him close for a kiss.

“Thanks,” she said drily, pushing sweat-stringed hair back off her face. She had a bruise along her hairline, a smear of crusted blood the only evidence of the small wound she’d apparently sustained there, and she was favoring her right arm, visibly wincing when she slipped the backpack off her shoulders.

Peter handed her an energy bar and shooed her off for a shower, the doorbell ringing just as she disappeared up the stairs.

He opened the door to find Betty and Flash waiting on the doorstep. Flash was first across the threshold. “I still can’t believe you let Parker knock you up,” he said, looking at Peter over tinted glasses and pushing a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne into his hand, in a typically Flash move of being an ass closely followed by thoughtfulness.

“Shut up, Eugene,” Betty said as she hugged Peter with one arm, her free hand balancing a container of food. “You look amazing, MJ. I’m so happy for you and Peter.”

He smiled at her, feeling a swell of affection at her words. ”Thanks. Most people usually ask what the hell we were thinking getting pregnant right out of college.”

“Are you happy?” At his nod, Betty continued. “Then eff them, MJ. The only thing that matters is that you and Peter are happy.” She handed the container off to Flash and pulled a parcel out of her shoulder bag. “Speaking of, where’s Peter? I got him a gift to apologize for us monopolizing his birthday.”

“He’s just back from a run, he’s having a shower. You didn’t have to get him anything, we did the birthday thing last night.” As he spoke, the doorbell rang again, and he let in Zach, Josh, Yasmin and Zoha before almost immediately re-opening the door to Seb, Tyler and – urgh.

“Hey, MJ,” Brad said, arms open as though going in for a hug. He was as broad, good looking and suave as ever, and Peter, as always, was instantly irritated by him.

“Brad.” Peter ducked out of reach, and handed the bottle of champagne to Brad. “Kitchen’s that way, you can drop off any food you’ve brought and help yourself to drinks.” He left them to it and headed upstairs to the bedroom in search of MJ, finding her in the master bathroom wrapped in a towel. “Brad’s here,” he said, shutting the bedroom door behind him and screwing his face up in distaste.

MJ rolled her eyes at him in the mirror, using another towel to squeeze the excess moisture out of her hair. “Don’t start,” she warned from behind the fabric. “We’re living together and having a baby, you won. Not that I was ever a prize to begin with." She draped the damp towel over her shoulder and started working curl cream into her hair.

“He’s just such a – a _dick_,” Peter exclaimed, his hands waving wildly.

“He’s a dick who helped hide you when Beck had the world baying for your blood,” MJ said, wiping the residual cream from her fingers onto the towel.

“I know. He just annoys me.”

“Stop being a jealous asshole. It’s not cute and it’s kind of insulting, plus school was a long time ago. Get over it.” She tossed her towels in the laundry hamper and padded past Peter and into the bedroom. “Has everyone else arrived?” she asked, pulling on underwear then a pair of jeans.

“Yep. I sent them into the kitchen to help themselves to a drink. Flash told me he couldn’t believe I let you get me pregnant.”

“Imagine how surprised he’d be if he knew the full story.” She paused in the middle of awkwardly tugging on her t-shirt, favoring her right shoulder, the lower half of her face covered by the neck. “Did Betty come? She wasn’t sure about seeing Ned again.”

“Yeah she’s here. How much do you wanna bet that they leave together before midnight?”

“Of course they will. Everyone but them knows that they’re going to end up together, it’s inevitable.” MJ fussed with the hair that had been mussed by her t-shirt, then extended her hand to Peter. “If you’re nice to Brad I’ll let you have two PDAs in front of him.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal,” he said, as their fingers entwined.

***

Late evening found them sitting in the yard bathed in the warm glow from the fire pit, blankets draped around their shoulders against the unseasonal chill that had followed sunset. Ned and Betty were cuddled up together in the love seat, their heads close as he whispered something to her. It looked like their on-again-off-again relationship was very much back on.

“Did anyone see Spider-Man fighting the Owl earlier?” Zoha asked, very obviously looking anywhere but at MJ as she disturbed the relaxed silence.

Ah. They’d apparently reached the part of the evening where everyone obliquely referred to the fact that they all knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man. The disastrous Europe trip and the events that followed had made it clear to everyone directly involved that Mysterio was telling the truth about Spider-Man’s alter ego, despite lying about the terrorism and murder.

He didn’t mind – everyone there had helped to hide him during the post-Mysterio fallout, and he owed them his continued secret identity, if not his life. He appreciated that they all played along with his public denial of being a vigilante superhero, even if they’d never openly discussed it.

“Oh yeah, he took some pretty hard hits,” Yasmin said. She pulled out her phone, and after a few taps, a YouTube video was projected for them to watch.

Peter winced as MJ was slammed into the side of a building, her right shoulder taking the brunt of the collision, before catching herself with a well-aimed web and swinging back into the fray, pulling off several complicated flips to avoid the swipes of Owl’s talons.

Unable to take watching the video any longer, Peter stood and paced behind the couch as MJ froze in the middle of kneading the shoulder that had hit the building, dropping her hand back to her side.

“Did you hurt your shoulder, Peter?” Zach asked casually, his eyebrow raised.

“I fell when I was out running,” MJ said, equally casual. “Landed on my shoulder. It’ll be fine.”

Peter admired how coolly she answered. He tended to over-explain in an effort to maintain his cover, whereas MJ was direct and unflustered.

Yasmin shut down the projection and slipped her phone into her cardigan pocket, watching Peter walk back and forth with a hand pushed against his lower back. “You’re due in November, right MJ?”

“November 18th,” Peter confirmed.

“I never thought you’d be the first of us to have a baby,” she said. “I figured you’d be too focused on your career and I thought Peter – well, I thought he’d be too busy.”

He kind of wished she’d just come right out with ‘too busy being Spider-Man’, but at this point in their group friendship, everyone was too committed to maintaining the almost decade-long facade that he was just Peter Parker. “I still plan on having a career,” he said, sitting back down and clasping his hands at the top of his belly. He’d found himself doing that more frequently as the pregnancy progressed – the bump was like a comfort blanket, and there was something soothing about cupping it. “I’m studying for my law degree next year.”

“And I’m reducing my hours with SI, so I can look after the baby,” MJ said. “Nothing’s changed, we just delayed things a little.”

“It’s lucky you have Iron Man bailing you out,” Brad commented. He was stretched out across the swing seat, his baseball cap tilted down over his face, and a bottle of beer dangling lazily from his hand. “There’s no way you could afford this place without Daddy Starkbucks.”

“You’re such a _dick_,” MJ huffed in an echo of Peter’s earlier judgement. “Look, you helped me out the summer before senior year, and I owe you for that, but you don’t get to comment on our lives, OK?” She she was calmly, coldly ferocious and Brad looked down to avoid her fierce gaze. “Just give your macho posturing a rest, it’s not impressing anyone, least of all MJ.”

Brad sat up on the swing seat, looking cowed and embarrassed, turning his cap around in his hands. Peter was a little sorry for him, despite his long-standing irritation with the man. “Hey, Brad?” he said.

Brad looked up from mauling his hat with nervous fingers. “Yeah?”

Peter spared him a smile. “You’re always welcome, just like everyone else here tonight. But it’d be great if you and Peter could drop this stupid rivalry. None of us is sixteen anymore.” He felt hypocritical saying it, but he was speaking as MJ, not Peter, and it was true – their rivalry _was_ stupid, and based on nothing other than teenaged boys liking the same girl seven years ago. And as much as Brad rubbed him up the wrong way, Peter knew he was equally guilty of needling Brad. They were never going to be close friends, but it was time for a truce.

“Sure,” Brad said, offering a hesitant smile of his own. “You’re right.” He looked at MJ. “Sorry, Peter.”

“We’re good,” MJ nodded, slipping an arm around Peter’s shoulders, and resting her head against his. He flipped his blanket over to cover her legs as well as his own and draped his arm across her lap to clasp her free hand.

“You know Parker designed Stark’s prosthetic arm, right?” Flash asked Brad. “Stark bought out the patent, then made it non-proprietary for non-profits and published the coding open-source. That’s where the money came from, right, Parker?”

“Yep,” MJ confirmed as Peter gawped at Flash, shocked that he had apparently read the article he and Tony had published in an obscure journal just a couple of days ago. Everything was true bar the patent being bought out – Peter would never accept money for something that could potentially help so many – but it worked as a cover story.

“But he’s had that arm since the Blip,” Brad said. “You designed that when you were_ sixteen_?”

Sixteen, traumatized and anticipating the loss of yet another father figure was probably more accurate, but MJ nodded. “I had it built by the time he came out of the coma. I was going to adapt an Iron Man arm, but that was built for strength, not delicacy, so I just started from scratch.”

Peter beamed at her, touched that she had remembered something he’d told her years ago.

Brad relaxed back against the sofa, rather than sitting perched on the very edge of the cushions. “That’s pretty impressive,” he said. “I knew you were good with tech, I just had no idea you could make something like that.”

MJ shrugged it off with a decent impression of Peter. “Tony could’ve made it himself, I just saved him the job.”

The group fell into an easy silence once again, content to huddle in the warmth of the fire pit until Ned cleared his throat. “So, it’s getting late, I’m just gonna walk Betty to the train.”

“You should walk her to her apartment too,” Peter said, straight-faced and struggling to keep his smirk at bay. “Right up to her door, just to make sure she gets home safe.”

Ned gave him a stony look, his eyebrows knitted, before he and Betty made their farewells and left.

As soon as they were gone, Flash pulled out his phone. “Who had 11:30pm for Leeds and Betty leaving together?” At Zoha’s raised hand, Flash checked the list he’d pulled up, and, apparently satisfied, everyone but Yasmin passed her ten dollars.

“Wait, you guys placed bets on when they’d leave together?” Peter asked, as Zoha folded the notes and slipped them into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Yep,” Flash said. “Who knows, maybe it’ll stick now Leeds is back in town.”

The night felt like it had drawn naturally to a close, the group making murmurings about leaving for home. Peter and MJ turned down the various offers to help clean up and waved everyone off with the promise of another get together in six months’ time.

“Are we seriously going to be up for that with a three-month-old?” Peter said, locking the front door.

“I guess we’ll find out in February,” MJ shrugged, as she packed the fridge with leftovers and Peter rinsed the used plates. “They can all come here and meet the baby, and then we can play the tired new parents card and kick them out if it gets too much.”

“Smart,” he commented, as he loaded the dishwasher. “Tonight was actually kind of nice. It made a change from being crammed into a tiny apartment when we all get together.”

“It was nice. I’m mad at myself for losing it with Brad, though.” She wiped the now-empty countertop down, sweeping crumbs into her hand. “That’s not how I like to deal with things.”

“I’m going to try harder with him,” Peter told her. “He was always into you, but he didn’t act like being friends was second-best.” He noticed MJ rolling her injured shoulder and pulled an ice pack from the freezer. “Take your shirt off and I’ll put this on for you,” he said, unbuckling the strap.

MJ stripped the t-shirt off, revealing a swollen shoulder painted with vivid purple bruising laced with green at the very edges, well on its way to healing. She flinched when he gently laid the ice pack across her shoulder but let out a sigh of relief once the initial shock of cold wore off. “That feels so good,” she said, resting her hand over the pack as some of the tension left her body. “I never realized how much being Spider-Man hurt.”

“I heal fast, but I still feel the pain,” Peter said. “I’m used to it.”

MJ was suddenly solemn, her mouth downturned and her eyes sad. “You never say it hurts,” she said quietly, her voice catching. “You always seem to just walk it off, make a joke. If I’d known it felt like this, I’d’ve – “

“What? You already fetch me pain killers and ice packs, help me into bed. That’s all I need, Em. There’s literally nothing else you could do, so don’t beat yourself up. The Owl already did a pretty good job of that for you.”

She snorted. “What a dumb aesthetic for a villain. He probably didn’t even get bitten by a radioactive owl.”

“Choosing a super name is hard,” Peter frowned. “And he can rotate his head like 260 degrees and fly, so the Owl is a pretty solid choice.”

“OK, _Spider-Man_. You’ve got to admit that he’s kind of a comedy super-villain though. I keep expecting him to hoot at me during our fights. He doesn’t seem to do anything other than call me out and make me chase him all over Midtown.”

“Yeah, well, owls sometimes eat spiders, so don’t underestimate him. He could be playing a long game and lulling you into a false sense of security.” Peter rummaged through the lockbox they kept the Spider-Man strength medication in, plucking out a bottle of acetaminophen and an anti-inflammatory before shaking the correct dosage out into his cupped hand.

MJ frowned as he tipped the medication into her palm. “I hate taking your meds, they space me out,” she complained, but swallowed them anyway.

“And now for the last part of the TLC – bed,” Peter said, and MJ followed him up the stairs without complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to [Iarrannme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iarrannme) for the beta!


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